A/N: I have a fun surprise for you all in this chapter! Was I planning it all along, or did I come up with it on the fly? The world may never know…
Harry thought the hushed whispers and distant looks of reverence he got from his fellow students were annoying enough. He could get used to them, maybe, if that was all there was to it. But they were nothing compared to the mortifying experience he would have during the second week of term.
It began like any other day, with Harry wrapping up a quick breakfast in the Great Hall before joining his sixth-year classmates for their morning Potions class. He leaned casually against the wall, listening absent-mindedly to his fellow students chatting and gossiping around him.
A tug on his robes got his attention. He turned to see a girl standing before him, looking incredibly nervous. He recognized her as one of the Slytherin twins in the year below him.
"Er...hello," he greeted her. "Miss Carrow, isn't it?"
Flora (or was it Hestia?) nodded. "G-greetings, Heir Potter," the poor girl stammered. "M-my father, Lord Faustus Carrow, sends his sincerest regards, and wishes for me to deliver this on his behalf."
The girl reached into her robes and offered a sealed letter to him with a trembling hand. Bemused, Harry took it from her; the envelope was addressed to 'Minister James Potter, Lord of the Noble House of Potter'. It was sealed on the back with a wax crest, which Harry presumed to be a family emblem of some kind.
"Erm...okay, thanks," Harry said, somewhat confused. He didn't understand why this couldn't have been sent to his father directly via owl.
Hestia (or was it Flora?) gave an awkward little curtsy, beet-red in the face, then scurried off down the hall. Harry watched her go, completely baffled, feeling as though there was some hidden significance to this moment he was completely missing.
Then, two voices burst out into hysterical giggles nearby. He turned to see Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis watching him from across the hall, trying in vain to stifle their laughter.
"We wondered who would be the first to approach you," Tracey grinned.
"My money was on Bulstrode," Daphne snickered. "Though I guess the Carrows would be rather desperate to rehabilitate their image."
"Huh?" said Harry, still feeling lost. "What is this?"
"That, Heir Potter," said Tracey, gesturing to the sealed letter with an ironic air of importance, "is a marriage contract."
"What?!" Harry yelped, dropping the letter as though it had burned him. "For who? For...me and her?!"
"What, something not to your liking about Hestia?" asked Tracey, raising a mirthful eyebrow.
"She's fifteen!" Harry protested. "And I've never spoken two words to her before today! Why would I even consider marriage with her?"
"Well, you shouldn't, really," Daphne reasoned, ignoring the obvious part of his question. "The Carrows are in severe disrepute since their aunt and uncle got sent to Azkaban during the last war. You're sure to get many lucrative offers from more respectable families."
"Daph, I told you, the Potters aren't like the other pure-blood families," Tracey said in an exasperated tone. "Look, Harry, your Dad's the most powerful man in Britain, and you're probably the most eligible bachelor in Europe besides Viktor Krum. Every self-respecting Lord would give up their entire fortunes to marry their daughter into the Potter line."
"That's…" Harry stammered, searching for the right word to describe the feeling. "Wrong."
"It's tradition," Daphne shrugged. "My father will likely send one on behalf of House Greengrass soon, if he hasn't already."
Harry couldn't believe how nonchalantly Daphne brought this up. "Your dad would just sign you away to me like that?" he asked.
"Oh, don't give me that pitying look, Potter," Daphne huffed, rolling her eyes. "It would be a great honor. We could do much worse than one another, don't you think?"
"You would just agree to marry me like that?" Harry asked. "Do you even like me?"
"Pure-bloods don't marry for love, Harry," Daphne sighed. "They look for the most advantageous match to continue their family legacy."
"Well, I'm not a pure-blood," Harry said flatly.
"You're still Heir to a member family of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," Daphne pointed out. "And blood purity standards aren't as strict as they used to be. Any children of yours would be considered pure-blood, so long as all grandparents and three-quarters of great-grandparents are magical."
"I've tried telling you, Daph: Harry's not like you other Heirs," said Tracey, wrapping a playful arm around Harry's waist. "He's a hopeless romantic who won't be wooed by your political games."
"Hmph," Daphne sniffed. "Well, at least try not to embarrass the poor girls that approach you, Harry. It's considered a grave dishonor to reject a contract offer, so just say thank you and leave them be."
"If there are any more offers," Harry grumbled. Luckily, Lily opened the door at that moment to invite the class into the Potions room, cutting off the conversation there. Harry noticed that Tracey's touch lingered as they filed into the classroom, and when she pulled away, she gave him a playful wink before re-joining Daphne at their station.
Unfortunately for Harry, Daphne's hunch was correct. Over the following few days, more bashful pure-blood girls approached with sealed marriage contracts of their own. He stifled the urge to say no then and there, merely saying his thanks and allowing them to curtsy and walk away. He sent each one off to his father via Bandit, thanking the stars that James would never expect his son to marry for political reasons.
Tracey's words (much like her touch) also lingered with him. Harry had never paid much attention to the opposite sex before, but there was no denying that they all treated him differently, even outside pure-blood circles. Coy smiles in the hallway, playful touches on the arm and shoulder, giggles in his direction as he passed by groups of girls.
He couldn't deny that the positive attention felt good after being the school pariah for so long. He may be mentally older, but his sixteen-year-old body still responded quite enthusiastically to all the pretty girls batting their eyelashes at him. Why shouldn't he be allowed to have a little fun?
But he also knew that he didn't have time for frivolous romances right now. He still had things to do, a war to plan. He had yet to make his first excursion from the castle, but he planned to do it soon. He had a long checklist of tasks he wanted to complete, foremost of which was securing a safe house he could use as his personal headquarters. Somewhere nobody else knew about – not his friends, not Dumbledore, not even his parents.
He had to give Dumbledore credit: the Headmaster had managed to find enough ways to keep Harry occupied within the castle for the time being. He had his first night patrol shift as prefect on Thursday evening, during which he and Hermione strolled the darkened castle in search of stragglers out after curfew. It was a tedious and uneventful few hours, punctuated only by Peeves, who thought it would be good fun to throw a suit of armor down three flights of stairs to make them jump out of their skin with fright.
Two days later, Harry had Quidditch tryouts to hold, as he'd been promoted back to team captain. He already felt guilty about it, and had offered Cho the position back earlier in the week, but she'd declined, citing a desire to focus on her N.E.W.T. studies. So that Saturday morning, he found himself staring down a group of nearly forty Ravenclaws, all eagerly awaiting his instructions.
As he'd feared, many of the students (mostly girls) were only there to see him up close and personal, and they were swiftly eliminated after a simple flying exercise around the pitch. The rest of the tryouts went relatively smoothly; two players from last year's team had graduated, leaving them with an opening at Beater and Chaser. After a methodical approach at each position, Harry granted the positions to Amy Frasier, a fourth-year who had played reserve the year before; and Calvin Kim, a fifth-year who had undergone a growth spurt over the summer and dramatically improved as a flyer.
Already Harry felt the time crunch on his schedule as he juggled his various classes with his extra-curricular activities. On top of Quidditch and prefect duties, he was expected to teach the Dueling Club, which met on Sunday afternoons. Harry suspected that Dumbledore had scheduled them for a weekend on purpose, to cut into the time he would be able to spend outside the castle.
Harry hoped (naively perhaps) that the Dueling Club would prove less popular this year, due to the proximity of the war and the difficulties the club had the year prior. But when he showed up in the Great Hall at three P.M. that Sunday, he was dismayed to find well over a hundred students waiting eagerly for him. Several professors had also shown up to watch the proceedings, including Flitwick, McGonagall, Snape, Lily, and even Dumbledore himself.
Harry groaned internally and took to the stage to get started. The crowd hushed respectfully when they saw him signal for quiet.
"Right, erm...welcome to the Dueling Club," he announced awkwardly. "I've been asked by the Headmaster to teach you some ways to defend yourself, if the necessity arises. You won't be learning how to duel the conventional way here...I'm here to teach you how to survive in a war environment, when your life is threatened and. If that doesn't sound appealing to you, this club may not be for you."
A few students shuffled uncomfortably at his dire words, and many younger students who were here just to have fun looked suitably cowed. But to their credit, nobody left the Hall.
"I also won't be teaching you any complicated magic you don't already know," Harry went on. "You can defend yourself just as well with third-year spells as with any advanced curses you haven't learned yet. There are three key factors to staying safe in a battle: mobility, accuracy, and adaptability. We'll be practicing all three in this club. First, I'll need everyone to follow me outside."
Harry leapt from the stage and strode out of the Hall. Confused, everyone followed him out the great double oak doors onto the front lawn of Hogwarts. The large group spread out across the grass as Harry waited for them all to spill out of the castle.
"Do you all see that large oak tree down there, on the other side of the lake?" Harry shouted, pointing out the tree several hundred yards away. "I want everyone to run as quick as you can, touch that tree, and come back."
There was a moment of confused silence as everyone gauged whether he was joking or not. Damian Dursley was the first to take off, sprinting across the grass towards the tree. Not wanting to be outdone, the other Quidditch players took off after him, followed by the rest of the student body, some reluctant at being forced to do physical exercise.
"Rather unusual to make them run, isn't it, Harry?" Flitwick remarked. "You won't make many friends that way."
"I'm not here to make friends," Harry shrugged, casting a glance at the Headmaster. Dumbledore surveyed him curiously from the doorway, but made no remark.
Terry Boot was the first to return, out-running Ron Weasley and Katie Bell in a Quidditch rivalry for first place. Many of last year's defense group members also returned near the front of the pack, already used to being forced to run in Harry's lessons. The rest of the student body trickled back slowly after that; those at the back of the pack looked completely gassed already, huffing and puffing and walking the last few dozen yards.
Harry called on several of the late stragglers to come forward, drawing groans of discontent from each of them. He had them line up in a row while he walked twenty paces down the grass, before turning to face them again.
"I want all five of you to hit me with a Stunning Spell," he announced. "I will not defend myself." As proof, he stowed his wand in his robes and placed his hands behind his back, leaving him defenseless.
The tired students looked suspicious. "Is this a test?" one of the Hufflepuffs asked nervously.
"Nope," Harry grinned. "First person to hit me wins a Galleon. You have one minute, starting now."
The students glanced at each other, shrugged, and began casting Stunners at him. It was difficult not to flinch as Harry watched jet after jet of red light graze right past, barely missing him. But his instinct proved to be correct: none of the fatigued students could land a direct hit on him thanks to their exhaustion. A couple Stunners grazed Harry's robes, but when sixty seconds had transpired, nobody had managed to land a body shot.
"You can't count on being fully rested when you have to cast a spell to save your life," Harry announced so that everyone could hear him. "If I'd been fighting back, all five of you would have been Stunned handily before you got more than three or four shots off against me."
"You didn't run with us!" one of the boys protested.
"Want me to run a lap around the lake first?" Harry asked, quirking an eyebrow. "I promise you it won't take long, and I'll make all five shots without missing."
The boy grimaced, but did not retort. It was clear that everyone present believed Harry.
"Now, I propose that we pair off and practice our aim in groups," Harry suggested. "I'll come along and give pointers where I can, but I won't be able to help everyone. Neville, care to give me a hand?"
Neville looked surprised to be called out from the group like that. He shuffled forward to approach Harry. "What d'you need me for?" he asked.
"Neville here is going to assist with the third-years and below," Harry announced, clapping the boy on the back. "I'll assist the fourth-years and up. Find a partner, stand ten feet apart from them, and take turns trying to Disarm each other."
Neville reluctantly agreed to help the younger students as the students began to separate themselves. Harry hoped to accomplish much the same thing he had the year before: to elevate Neville to a leadership role, so the others would look up to him just as much as Harry; and to lessen the load on himself. Ideally, once the first few club meetings were out of the way, they could more or less run themselves with minimal instruction. Maybe Harry would be able to skive off a meeting or two if he was lucky.
Harry went around from pair to pair, giving pointers and correcting poor spell-casting form in the older students. Most looked tired and frustrated, not having gone through this already in last year's defense club, but everyone took the instruction without complaint. He had to shy away from some of the bolder girls, coyly suggesting he take a more "hands-on" approach in correcting their posture, moving on from such groups as quickly as possible as they devolved into fits of giggles.
He paused when he reached the end of the row of students, realizing that Draco Malfoy and his band of sycophants were also in attendance. They were putting minimal effort into their casting and mostly loitering around, sneering at the other students while whispering among one another.
What the hell are they doing here? Harry wondered. Were they here to spy? Had they been instructed by Voldemort to report back on what combat techniques Harry was teaching them? Was it prudent to even teach them anything useful, in case it gave the Death Eaters a chance to counter Harry's strategies in combat? He paused, unsure of what to do.
Harry glanced up at Dumbledore, who was studying him with a placid expression. Did the Headmaster know what was going through his head in that moment? The reassuring nod he gave from afar certainly pointed to that idea. I'll have to ask about this later, Harry reasoned.
"Malfoy!" he barked. "Your wand movements are lazy and imprecise. My sister could cast a better Disarming Charm than that."
The nearby students guffawed at the juvenile jab. Draco gave Harry a petulant glare before resuming his attempts to disarm Theo Nott.
Harry concluded the meeting soon after, with most students leaving in high spirits and thanking him for the pointers. Even Neville seemed pleased, having spent the time helping the awe-struck younger students eager at the chance to talk to the Boy-Who-lived. But Harry remained troubled by the band of Slytherins who had crashed the meeting...he knew their intentions could not be pure, and worried what their true motives were.
He didn't get a chance to ask Dumbledore until a few days later. He received a missive at Wednesday breakfast, inviting him to meet for their weekly lesson at the Room of Requirement that evening. He arrived to find the door already active; when he entered, Dumbledore was gazing around in wonder at the space, chuckling in amazement to himself.
"Quite the remarkable room you've discovered, Harry," the Headmaster beamed. "I have not spent much time investigating it since it came to my attention two years ago, but the magic here is truly impressive. It is no wonder you were the one to find it first."
"Why do you say that, sir?" Harry frowned.
"The construction of this room reflects the talents of someone uncommonly clever and skilled with charm work," said Dumbledore, still gazing around at the room with a smile on his face. "I have no doubt that it was the handiwork of the founder of your House."
"You think Rowena Ravenclaw created this room?" asked Harry, surprised.
"It stands to reason," said Dumbledore. "Godric and Helena were more straightforward in their endeavors...they would not have seen the need for a secret hideaway such at this. And given that Salazar created his own chamber far from this one, I can only imagine this is where Rowena would come to work on her secret projects in peace."
It struck Harry as odd that Dumbledore would refer to the Founders by first name in this manner, as though they were friends of his. The Headmaster was old, but certainly not old enough to have know them personally. But no matter – he had more pressing matters to inquire about.
"Sir," said Harry. "I wonder if you noticed the group of Slytherins at the club meeting on Sunday. Did it concern you that they were there?"
"Mr. Malfoy and his friends are students of this school, the same as any other," Dumbledore reasoned. "I see no logical reason why they should be disbarred from public activities."
"Oh, I dunno, maybe because their parents are Death Eaters?" Harry retorted sharply. "Or that at least one of them likely has the Dark Mark as we speak?"
"You have shared your concerns about Mr. Malfoy with me before," Dumbledore said patiently. "And I must remind you of the agreement you made to keep your distance from the boy. I assure you he is being carefully watched."
"But don't you find it suspicious?" Harry groaned. "What if he's reporting back everything I'm teaching to the students? Wouldn't that give away what we're up to?"
"I very much doubt Lord Voldemort takes an interest in whether Hogwarts students can cast a Disarming Charm," Dumbledore chuckled. "You are teaching basic self-defense, which is an invaluable tool that even Voldemort cannot take away from them."
"I'm doing much more than self-defense!" Harry fired back. "I'm teaching specific strategies for a war scenario! Strategies that could easily backfire if the enemy was prepared for them and acted accordingly!"
"I understand your concern, Harry, but I do not foresee many students taking part in a battlefield skirmish anytime soon," Dumbledore smiled. "I wouldn't worry so much about it. Now, shall we get into today's lesson?"
Harry had much more he wanted to say, feeling that the man was not taking his concerns seriously. But curiosity got the better of him, as he was eager to finally get into his first real combat lesson with the Headmaster. "Fine," he huffed. "Where do we start?"
"A simple assessment of your abilities," Dumbledore smiled. He took a few strides across the room, turning to face Harry from fifteen feet away.
"Alright," Harry shrugged, drawing his wand. "A duel, then?"
"Indeed," Dumbledore smiled, pulling out his own wand. "Do whatever you deem necessary to subdue me. No Unforgivables, but everything else is on the table."
Harry surveyed his opponent carefully, the kindly old man standing peacefully across the room from him. It was a bit intimidating...Dumbledore may look old and frail, but Harry knew just how dangerous the man truly was. The thought of crossing wands with him was more than a little daunting. But Harry could imagine no better training for defeating Voldemort, so he swallowed his nerves and got straight to work.
Harry fired a rapid flurry of hexes at Dumbledore while spinning to his right. The Headmaster flicked his wand with surprising speed, erecting a simple Shield Charm to intercept the incoming jets of light. But Harry did not remain idle; he summoned a fire tornado and launched it at Dumbledore's left side while continuing to assault his right side with basic hexes and jinxes. Dumbledore did not appear concerned; he simply extinguished the flames with a wall of sand while stepping cleanly away from the individual spells.
Harry continued to throw everything he could at Dumbledore, but the Headmaster barely broke a sweat, side-stepping, Shielding, or batting aside every incoming hex. Dumbledore made no effort to fight back, remaining firmly on defense, expending little to no energy. It quickly became frustrating for Harry, who could not break through the impenetrable defenses of the Headmaster, no matter how hard he fought.
Harry huffed with annoyance, throwing more dangerous spells at his opponent out of frustration. Dumbledore did not bat an eye, batting aside Bone-Breakers and Blood-Boilers like they were no different than the Stunners he'd been deflecting before. Harry was growing fatigued now, rolling and leaping from side to side to attack Dumbledore from multiple angles and avoid any counter-attacks (which were not forthcoming).
Eventually Harry paused to catch his breath. "Are you not going to fight back?" he challenged.
"If you insist," Dumbledore shrugged. His wand whipped through the air with lightning speed, and before Harry could react, a tangle of vines appeared out of thin air and wrapped themselves around his head and shoulders. Harry dropped his wand to grapple with the tangled mass, which dragged him down to his knees and eventually his stomach, pinning him to the ground.
"I yield!" Harry groaned. The vines vanished at once, and Harry got back to his knees, panting, as a smiling Dumbledore walked up to him.
"You did quite well," Dumbledore appraised him. "Your accuracy and power is far beyond that of even most Aurors."
"Didn't do me much good," Harry grumbled. "You didn't even break a sweat."
"I tend to employ a more defensive fighting style than most," Dumbledore explained, extending a hand to help Harry back to his feet. "I find it rather effective against powerful opponents like Voldemort and yourself. It takes far more physical energy to attack than to defend, as you have just demonstrated."
"It also takes more precision and knowledge to defend," Harry pointed out. "One mistake and you're dead. I could never fight like you, since I don't know half of the spells Voldemort does and wouldn't be able to counter them."
"That is true," Dumbledore conceded. "And I would not advise you to fight like I do. You employ a much more physical and athletic fighting style, which comes with its own share of advantages and drawbacks. I will help you strengthen the former and mitigate the latter."
"But how is fighting you supposed to help me fight Voldemort?" asked Harry. "He isn't going to sit back and be so defensive, is he?"
"My dear boy, who said anything about fighting Voldemort?" Dumbledore chuckled. "You are sixteen and not yet finished with your education. He is perhaps the most dangerous Dark Lord the world has ever seen. I fear you would not stand a chance."
"Isn't that what you're for, then?" Harry demanded. "To teach me how to stand a chance?"
"I never said I could help you take on Voldemort by yourself," said Dumbledore. "I can, however, help you survive against some of his more dangerous lieutenants, like Lockhart and Crouch Junior. And as Voldemort's influence grows, many more powerful fighters from the continent and beyond may be drawn to Britain to join his ranks, making things more difficult for the Aurors to handle."
"I'm not an Auror," Harry said flatly. "And even if I become one after school, I have more to offer in the war effort than that, and you know it. Whether the prophecy referred to Neville or myself, my fate is tied to Voldemort all the same."
"I have warned you not to put too much stock into that prophecy, Harry," Dumbledore sighed. "Voldemort did, and it caused his first downfall. I fear you may make the same mistake."
"That's what makes you and I different, Headmaster," Harry retorted. "You can afford to sit back and be reactive. I prefer to tackle my problems head-on rather than wait around for something bad to happen to me and my family."
"An understandable philosophy," Dumbledore nodded, "but one that comes with its share of risks. Such aggression can overwhelm an unprepared enemy, but a prepared one can easily use it against you as I have just done. If you'll let me, I can teach you how to keep the upper hand and prevent your enemies from turning the tables on your attacks. How to work smarter, not harder."
"Fine," Harry sighed. "Let's go again."
Harry and Dumbledore went through several more mock duels after that, each ending in the same predictable fashion. Harry did his best to overwhelm Dumbledore with a barrage of powerful spells, but was unable to break through his defenses before being felled by a quick counter-attack. Dumbledore provided helpful pointers in between bouts, pointing out inefficient movements or missed opportunities for attack. But it seemed that no matter what Harry tried, it was utterly useless.
Dumbledore called an end to the lesson soon after. "You've done well today, Harry," he said. "I know it doesn't feel like you've made much progress, but you have to learn to fail many times before finding true success."
"Right," Harry grumbled. He felt like he'd succeeded in doing little else besides wear himself out and discover all new ways to fail spectacularly.
"Now, I would love to continue our practice, but I'm afraid I am needed elsewhere," said Dumbledore as he checked his pocket watch. "I am meeting with Mr. Longbottom in a few minutes."
"Are you giving Neville combat lessons, too?" Harry asked, intrigued.
"Ah," Dumbledore smiled. "My lessons with Neville are somewhat different than yours. He has a very different role to play in this coming war, and there is a great deal he must learn before facing it."
"So you're not training him how to fight?" Harry asked, surprised.
"I am arming him with knowledge, rather than spells," said Dumbledore. "Some might argue that is far more valuable."
"What kind of knowledge?"
"I'm afraid that is between me and Neville," said Dumbledore. "But rest assured: I am doing all in my power to ensure that the both of you are prepared for whatever may come in the months and years ahead."
If you say so, Harry thought as he and the Headmaster went their separate ways. As usual, Dumbledore preferred to keep his cards close to the chest while expecting everyone around him to give up any information they have willingly. And who was he to say what Neville did or didn't need? The poor boy may not be a born front line fighter like Harry was, but the front line seemed to find Neville wherever he went anyway, so why neglect the boy's combat training based on preconceived notions of what 'role' he ought to play?
Harry replayed his duels with Dumbledore in his mind over the coming days, looking for things he could do better, weaknesses he could've exploited. And to his frustration, he could not find any. Sure, he could tighten up some of his minor inaccuracies, but what did it matter when Dumbledore was impossible to land a hit on? It only reaffirmed the realization he'd had in the Ministry Atrium last June: he was too far out of his depth to contend with the likes of Dumbledore and Voldemort.
Which meant he had to find other ways to improve, and quickly.
The weekend fast approached, and Harry found himself with a free Saturday for the first time that term. He intended to take advantage of his free time to leave the grounds and attend to some of the things he hoped to accomplish outside of Hogwarts. He could not sit around and wait for Dumbledore to teach him everything he thought he needed to know – he had to be proactive.
After a quick breakfast on Saturday morning, Harry excused himself to the library. This was no surprise to his peers – they would expect him to be there all weekend long, and ideally nobody would come looking for him. He idled around for thirty minutes or so before doubling back into the Entrance Hall, peeking into the Great Hall to ensure no one would spot him leaving. He headed straight for the double-oak doors, prepared to hustle down the path to the school boundary to Apparate away—
"Harry! Wait up!"
Harry groaned; Lily had emerged from the stairwell leading up from the Potions at the precise moment he reached for the door. "Hey, Mum," he greeted her casually. "Just going out for a walk."
"Mind if I join you?" Lily asked hopefully. "I've been cooped up all morning grading papers and could use the fresh air."
Harry groaned internally, but he couldn't rightfully say no. "By all means," he said, opening the door for her.
They strolled casually down towards the lake, as Harry tried to come up with some excuse to ditch his mother without making her suspicious. She was the last person he wanted to know that he was leaving the grounds unattended.
"You aren't helping Remus and Alessia with the company today?" Harry asked.
"I might pop in tomorrow, but things are slow at the moment," Lily sighed. "We're having difficulty sourcing basilisk venom...your father suspects that Voldemort is threatening our suppliers overseas to prevent us from importing the ingredients we need."
"That bloody bastard," Harry muttered mutinously.
Lily looked like she wanted to reprimand him for the language, but instead she sighed. "He is a bastard, isn't he?" she chuckled. "Anyway, how are your classes going?"
"Fine," Harry shrugged. "Snape is grading my papers fairly for once, which is a welcome change."
"Yes, I had to have a word with him about that," Lily muttered. "I read one of your Potions papers that he gave a 'Dreadful' last year, and I thought it was more than worthy of an 'Exceeds Expectations'."
"He's still resentful of Dad, I reckon," said Harry. "He's always hated me for no good reason."
"That's hardly true!" Lily protested.
"Then why has he never given Dahlia lower than an 'E'?"
"Your sister happens to be a prodigy in Potions, so that's not a fair comparison," Lily said diplomatically.
"And I'm not?"
"I didn't say that…!" Lily spluttered. "It's just...not your area of expertise—"
"I'm only joking, Mum," Harry smirked. "Dahlia's always been ten times better at Potions than me."
"Well you said it, not me," Lily chuckled appreciatively. "So what are you doing on a sunny Saturday morning by yourself? Not spending time with friends?"
"Just wanted a bit of alone time," said Harry, hoping she would get the hint. "Considering all the extra responsibilities Dumbledore has given me this term."
"Ah, I suppose you've earned that," Lily smiled sadly. "Well, I hope you'll indulge me for a little while longer. I miss you and Dahlia dearly whenever you're at school...and your sister's always off with Neville or working in the Hospital Wing…"
"I'll try to come and visit you in your office more often," Harry promised.
"Good," Lily smiled. "It gets lonely down in those dungeons...I don't know how Severus put up with it for so long."
"He thrives on the misery, I reckon," Harry said sardonically.
"You really oughtn't tease, Harry," Lily reprimanded him. "Professor Snape has had a difficult life, and was never treated fairly—"
"Did he treat others fairly, when he became a Death Eater?" Harry snapped. "Or when he called you a Mudblood in your fifth year?"
Lily froze at this question. "How did you know about that?" she demanded.
"Er...Uncle Sirius brought it up once," Harry lied quickly. Luckily Lily bought that, as she merely sighed.
"I didn't say Severus is faultless," said Lily carefully. "But he has atoned for his past mistakes and now works for the right side."
For now, Harry grumbled internally. He didn't trust the man any further than he could throw him. He was reasonably certain Snape would never endanger him due to his loyalty to Lily, but that did not necessarily mean that he was perfectly loyal to their cause. It just happened to be more convenient right now to play the part of good cop, until being the bad cop became more lucrative.
Harry and Lily continued to make small talk as they rounded the lake and returned back up to the castle. "Thanks for indulging your old mum," Lily said with a sad smile. "I don't mean to be over-bearing, dear – I just enjoy spending time with my boy."
"I enjoy spending time with you too, Mum," said Harry, hugging her tight. "We'll have to do this more often."
Harry bade his mother farewell and headed for the kitchen, with the excuse that he wanted to grab a quick snack before heading to the library to study. He wasn't actually hungry, but he figured he would just hide out there for a while, and then take the secret passageway to the one-eyed witch statue and leave the grounds that way. In fact, that's probably what he should've done to begin with.
Harry tickled the pear on the wall painting and pushed his way into the kitchen. It wasn't very busy at the moment; dinner was not for a few hours, and only a small handful of house-elves were milling about, preparing ingredients. Harry wandered over towards a supply stand, eyeing a tray of biscuits that looked like an appetizing snack.
But before he reached them, a small pop heralded the arrival of another elf, materializing out of thin air in front of him. "Is young mister hungry?" the elf asked eagerly. "Mipsy would be happy to serve you!"
"Just looking for a light snack, but thank you," Harry grinned, grabbing the tray and shoving a few of the biscuits down his gullet. The stress of the day's subterfuge had made him hungrier than he thought.
A few more pops rang out as additional elves appeared before Harry. They appeared delighted by the visitor and scrambled over one another to retrieve more trays of food to serve him.
"No, honestly, I'm not that hungry!" Harry laughed.
"Young mister is needing his nutrients!" Mipsy chided him, wrenching the tray of biscuits from him and offering him a dried fruit platter instead.
"Oh, all right," Harry groaned, accepting the tray and popping a dried apricot into his mouth. "Say, where are you all coming from, anyway?"
"We were just on cleaning duty in the dorms!" another elf piped up. "But we came straight away to help our visitor friend!"
"And you don't have to walk?" Harry frowned. "You can just Apparate wherever you want in the castle? I thought Apparation was disabled in Hogwarts."
The elves looked at each other, slightly confused. "House-elves does not Apparate," the elf called Mipsy explained. "We has our own magic to get around."
"And can you use that magic to transport humans?" Harry asked. "Like, if I needed to visit the Hospital Wing for a stomach ache—"
"Mipsy would be happy to take you straight away, sir!" said Mipsy, extending a hand.
"No, that's alright," Harry chuckled. He had never really considered the capability of house-elves to move more freely throughout the grounds. He knew thanks to Kreacher that their magic was slightly different, as he was able to 'Apparate' out of Tom Riddle's cave after retrieving the horcrux with Regulus. Was the same true within Hogwarts?
"Say, what if I needed to visit Hogsmeade for something?" Harry wondered aloud. "Could one of you take me?"
The elves looked at him suspiciously. "Students is not permitted to leave the grounds unattended," said Mipsy.
"What if I do have permission?" said Harry, pulling out the slip of paper with Dumbledore's signature on it.
Mipsy took the slip and read it, and a broad smile crossed her face. "Oh, that's a different matter then!" she exclaimed. "We is happy to take you to Hogsmeade or anywhere else you need to be going!"
"Oh," said Harry, surprised; he had not expected this. Why had nobody thought of this before? Was it simply considered rude to utilize the house-elves as personal transportation? Harry didn't think so; in fact, the elves looked positively tickled to be given the opportunity to help a student.
"Any one of us can take you now, if you like!" another elf squeaked excitedly. The others looked on with similar eager expressions.
"Well, if you don't mind—" Harry chuckled, then he froze in shock. His eyes had landed upon a house-elf lurking towards the back of the pack...an elf with drooping ears and bulbous green eyes. Harry had never met the elf in this timeline, but he recognized him at once. "Dobby?!"
Dobby the house-elf looked surprised to be recognized. "Young mister recognizes Dobby?" the elf asked, confused. "We is never meeting before—"
"Er...I'm a friend of Neville Longbottom's," Harry explained quickly. "He told me all about you."
Dobby perked up at once. "Oh, young mister is knowing the great Neville Longbottom?" he asked excitedly. "Dobby is most pleased to be making your acquaintance, sir! Dobby considers Neville Longbottom to be a great wizard and a wonderful friend!"
"Yes, I'm sure he feels the same way about you," Harry chuckled, very much doubting it to be the case. "But I don't understand...weren't you the Malfoy's house-elf? I thought they killed you?"
Dobby looked forlorn at this mention. "Yes, Master Lucius ordered Dobby to be killed," he admitted shamefully. "He told Master Draco to do it, to prove he was a man. But b-brave Master Draco took Dobby out into the woods, and he...and he set Dobby free instead!"
Harry was stunned by this revelation. "Draco Malfoy set you free?" he repeated. "Why would he do that?"
"D-Dobby is taking care of M-Master Draco since he was a b-baby," Dobby sniffed, tears running down his long nose. "Master Draco c-could not do it! He instead g-gave Dobby a scarf and told Dobby to run far away!"
"Huh," said Harry thoughtfully. "So you don't work for the Malfoys anymore?"
"No, sir," Dobby shook his head emphatically. "Bad people, those Malfoys are, and Dobby is glad to be free of them! Dobby came to Hogwarts to look for work, and Headmaster Dumbledore was more than happy to hire him!"
"Does Draco know you're at Hogwarts?" Harry frowned.
"Master Draco is not knowing Dobby is here!" Dobby shook his head. "Headmaster Dumbledore asks that Dobby avoid the Slytherin common room so that we does not cross paths!"
How interesting, Harry thought. Was this perhaps another ploy of Dumbledore's to keep an eye on Draco from afar? Was this why he was not worried about the boy's activities? Did he have Dobby on the case, to ensure he did nothing to endanger anyone else in the castle? This also gave Harry an unexpected opportunity to further his own goals of figuring out what the boy was up to, if he played his cards right.
"Dobby…" said Harry slowly. "If I ask for your help in getting in and out of the castle, are you going to tell Dumbledore or Malfoy or anyone else? I prefer to keep my travels private."
Dobby considered this carefully. "Dobby is required to report any illegal activities to the Headmaster," he said nervously.
"Oh no, we won't be doing anything illegal," Harry said hastily. "But I have some secret errands to run, errands that will help Neville Longbottom. It just has to stay between you and me. Can you do that?"
As expected, mentioning Neville did the trick, as Dobby's doubts disappeared and his chest puffed with pride. "Dobby is happy to be helping Mister Potter and Mister Longbottom!" the house-elf beamed. "Dobby can be taking you straight away!"
"Excellent!" said Harry. "Can you take me to Hogsmeade?"
Dobby nodded eagerly and extended his hand. Harry took it, and immediately felt the squeezing sensation of Apparation (though far less uncomfortable, he noted). When he opened his eyes again, they were standing just outside the wrought-iron gates of Hogwarts, the village of Hogsmeade laid out before them.
"Can Dobby be of any assistance in the village?" Dobby asked excitedly.
"Erm...no, thank you, Dobby," said Harry. "I have some things to do, things that might take me the rest of the day to complete. Can you meet me here later tonight?"
"Dobby can!" the elf nodded vigorously. "Just say Dobby's name, and he will hear you and come to fetch you back into the castle!"
That's convenient, Harry thought. He wished he'd known about this little loophole far earlier in his academic career. Was this only possible because he was a student and Dobby was employed by the school? Or did all house-elves possess this ability? Either way, he wouldn't look a gift hippogriff in the beak.
Harry bade the elf good-bye and strode purposefully into the village. He waited until the elf disappeared with a small pop – he didn't want the elf to notice him illegally Apparating without a license, as he had no actual business in Hogsmeade. He ducked into a small alley and, after ensuring there were no passers-by to witness his departure, he turned on the spot and Apparated away.
He reappeared on the outskirts of a remote village, many miles from the castle. He knew that if he went roughly ten more miles south he would arrive at Little Hangleton, but he did not wish to establish a base of operations so close to a spot Voldemort himself might choose to visit. But the Gaunt shack had given him an idea, and after some research into Muggle towns in the area, he determined that this might be the perfect area to pass unnoticed.
Harry walked into the main town square of the village known as Ashewick, glancing around at the dilapidated store fronts. Many were boarded up and long abandoned; others were dingy and poorly-kept, indicating infrequent use. There was only a post office and a pub on the main road that appeared open for business. After applying an aging glamour on himself, Harry entered the latter.
The pub was deserted, as expected, save for a lone bartender reading a book behind the counter. The man appeared surprised to have a visitor, hastily closing his book to attend to him.
"You lost, mate?" the bartender asked. "We don't get many outsiders 'round 'ere."
"Just passing through," said Harry casually as he took a seat. "Water, please?"
The bartender nodded and began filling a glass for him. "What brings ya to Ashewick?" he asked. "Doubt it was on purpose."
"I'm an investor, looking into some properties in the area," Harry lied. "What can you tell me about this place?"
"I don't recommend nothing 'round Ashewick," the bartender snorted. "Turning into a ghost town, this place is."
"You're still here," Harry pointed out.
"Aye, we get enough business from the factory just up the hill," said the bartender. "Seasonal workers walk down here after their shift most nights, but they all live on-site."
"What about all the neighborhoods to the east and south of here?" Harry asked. "Don't people live there?" He had come across the name of the town in the Muggle library in Godric's Hollow, while researching Little Hangleton over a year prior. It was described as a small agricultural village with a population of a few hundred residents, but he had no clue how up-to-date the information was.
"Pah! Maybe fifty years ago," the bartender chuckled. "Been deserted for a long while now. I'd be surprised if there were more than fifty people livin' within five miles of here."
"I see," said Harry thoughtfully. "So those houses are just sitting there, empty? Who owns them?"
"Some bank, I figure," the bartender shrugged. "Not that it matters any. Whole neighborhoods have been abandoned for decades – no use in fixin' 'em up neither, what with people movin' away."
That was exactly what Harry was hoping to hear. "You've been most helpful," said Harry as he got to his feet and drew his wand. "Obliviate."
The bartender's eyes went glassy and unfocused as Harry removed the memory of his visit. As with Borgin, he also sent the man back into the storeroom with a mild Compulsion Charm, ensuring Harry would be gone and forgotten by the time he walked out the door. No point in leaving any loose ends that could point in his direction later.
Harry exited the pub and walked quickly down the road to the east. The city center quickly gave way to a single dirt road that wound off into a neighborhood, or what was left of it. It was reminiscent of the scene at Little Hangleton, with house after house being slowly reclaimed by nature after decades of neglect. No one would be coming through here any time soon, Muggle or wizard, giving Harry all the privacy he could ask for.
He eyed each house he passed, wondering if it would be suitable for his plans. He wasn't looking for anything in particular – he figured he would just go with whatever felt right in the moment. Some houses were too small; others were too far gone to even bother magically repairing them. He wandered aimlessly down winding side roads, window shopping in the most literal sense, unsure whether he should even spend this much time deciding—
He knew when he found the right home straight away. It was somewhat isolated from the others, set back deep on a plot of wooded land surrounded by tall trees. The home itself was large enough – a two-story abode, shrouded in semi-darkness from the trees looming overhead. And to top it off, a flock of ravens took roost in the surrounding trees, cawing ominously to add to the eerie atmosphere.
No one will come snooping around here, Harry thought as he made his way onto the property. He planned to set numerous wards to repel Muggles and wizards alike, but he could even do without, giving how naturally repulsive and spooky the place felt. But Harry strangely felt right at home here. Perhaps it was the ravens – their significance was not lost on him, traditionally viewed as an omen of death. Given Harry's Patronus and his background with the Veil, he could imagine no more fitting of a setting for his secret home base.
"Hominum revelio," Harry whispered as he approached the home. As expected, no one was here. The front door was partially ajar, so he gently slipped in through the crack and stepped inside. Despite the layers of dirt and rotting wood, the place felt homely enough, once he put in some effort to spruce the place up a bit. It wasn't much – just a large living area and kitchen space – but for one person, it would be more than he needed.
Harry bounded up the steps to the second floor, after magically reinforcing every step to ensure it wouldn't collapse under his weight. There were three small bedrooms and a single bathroom, which would be plenty of space for what he had planned. Once he was able to purchase all the supplies he would need, he could bring them all here and rest assured that nobody would come to disturb them.
He began repairing the place room by room, replacing rotting boards with fresh ones and clearing the layer of dust coating every surface. He summoned simple lanterns that could be magically activated to light up the space as needed without electricity. And for good measure, he changed the color of the wallpaper from dour gray to bright yellow, to make the place feel more vibrant and less depressing. He might have to keep the exterior of the home decrepit-looking to avoid suspicion, but there was no reason not to make the inside more habitable if he was the only person who would ever see it.
With the afternoon drawing long, Harry returned downstairs and out to the front yard. He had plans for more permanent protections later, but for now, some basic wards would have to suffice. He began casting Muggle-repelling wards around the property line, and a mild Repulsion Charm to amplify the eerie effect of the spooky environment. He charmed every window to block light from within, so that once he moved in, the place would look just as dark and abandoned from the outside as before.
Satisfied, Harry finally stepped back to admire his handiwork. It had taken a good amount of magical effort, but the place was now sufficiently warded to repel anyone who might wander past and give no visual indication that the place was occupied. He intended to bury some protective rune stones around the property once he had the time to carve them, but that was a project that could wait for another day. The sun was getting low in the sky, and Harry decided to return to the castle early to ensure nobody noticed his absence.
Harry Apparated back to Hogsmeade and marched straight up to the front gate. "Dobby!" he called out. With a small crack, the diminutive elf appeared before him. "Can you take me to the Room of Requirement?"
Seconds later, he was back in his sanctuary within the castle. It was a comforting feeling, though now that Dumbledore and others knew about the Room, he would need his external hideaway more than ever. The possibilities excited him, and he spent the remainder of the evening jotting down a list of ingredients and supplies he would need to build up his base of operations once he'd finished magically renovating the interior.
As he scanned the list and took a mental tally of its costs, a new conundrum arose. He was flat broke, a problem that had never plagued him much before as a teenager living at home with his parents. How was he going to afford cauldrons, brewing supplies, ritual ingredients, rune stones, and all other manner of provisions?
Harry had an idea how to kill two birds with one stone...he could improve his skills while also making money in the process. Flitwick had mentioned making a living by entering dueling competitions in his youth, and Harry found the idea quite appealing. If he could hold his own against the strongest Death Eaters in the land, surely he could handle himself against no-names in a one-on-one environment. Surely he could find a tournament he could enter on the weekends to make some quick cash.
It would be dangerous, and he would have to lie about his age and identity to get in. But Harry was done playing things safe. Screw what Dumbledore said: he was tired of waiting for the war to come to him. It was time to take matters into his own hands.