Sanctuary of Arda

I awoke on the third day of my involuntary imprisonment. It was rather disconcerting to note that the room I was in could actually be described as a rather luxurious prison cell. I did have a small cot to sleep in; the springs were rather worn and bounced irritatingly with squeaking noises every time I moved around on the bed. It was furnished with a single blanket and pillow, had a study desk, and a single dresser. The walls were old, the wallpaper chafing off at points.

The difference I suppose would have to be the colours in the room and the fact that I had an open window, with no bars on, although you could still see the marks from where there had been bars on the frame. It was nearly three years after that happened. I remember the moment those bars came off fondly, it was one of my more funny memories. Though I possess very few happy memories I am sad to say.

I suppose you could hardly call me a normal individual. Though every person's definition of normal is relative, I am about as abnormal as they come, at least from the point of view of those who I live with. Yes, there I hear the heavy thumping footsteps that indicate that my cousin has finished with the bathroom, and there he goes down the stairs. Where was I? Oh yes, I am abnormal from my family's point of view, that would be my Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, whom I live with. I absolutely find it the funniest thing the names they make up when they refer to anything that has to do with me; freaky business, freaks, those people, Lord Voldy-whatsis, dementoids, unnaturalness.

And that brings me to my main point, I am a wizard. Yes, a wizard, as in Merlin with a staff, hmmmm, since when did wizards stop using staffs I wonder, it must be a bit clumsy to walk around with such a thing. Anyway, I use a wand to do magic, eleven inches, phoenix feather, with wood from a holly tree as the base. At the moment my wand is safely tucked into an arm holster that I never take off me, not even when I sleep.

The reason for that is rather quite simple. I am a marked man. I am one of the primary targets of a rather evil wizard. This wizard is billed as the most powerful Dark wizard in the past two centuries. I only recently learned of the true motivation that lies behind this man's attempts to kill me, which have been rather numerous since I have re-entered the wizarding world at the age of eleven.

I suppose it all started with my parents or rather my entire family. They were active opponents of this dark wizard, who incidentally calls himself Lord Voldemort. Now Voldemort's reasons for wanting power are rather complex and the way he advertises himself with terror and fear is rather confusing, but he spouts the virtues of pure wizarding blood and opposing the Muggleborn(wizards and witches born to non-magical parents) invasion, to attract pure-blood (wizards and witches with long descendants of magical ancestors) wizards to his side. What a load of codswallop.

It's a simple fact of the matter that Voldemort simply wants to take over wizarding society in Britain, and control it in his way, and impose his way of life on others. My family and countless others opposed him and his followers. I guess my family was rather prominent in that they were in a secret society called the Order of the Phoenix, whose sole purpose was to stop Voldemort, and the Order got damn good at their jobs, it can also be argued that they got too good. My parents attracted his attention firstly by being powerful enough to successfully battle against him personally and escape with their lives.

To add fuel to the fire, a prophecy was delivered to the Head of the Order personally, my Headmaster Albus Dumbledore; a venerable, powerful wizard that was roughly the equal of Lord Voldemort. It foretold that one would be born who could destroy Voldemort finally, and to make a very long story short, I am that person.

The Prophecy however had also been partially overheard by a follower of Voldemort and reported it directly to the dark wizard. At first they did not know who the 'One' could be, it was a toss up between me, and my friend Neville Longbottom, who roughly shared my birthday.

So Voldemort, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the Prophecy, sought out my parents and killed them in hiding at Godric's Hollow. He tried to kill me. But failed. The supposedly unstoppable Killing Curse bounced off my forehead due to an ancient magic that my mother had employed when she gave her life out of love to protect me.

I was left with a scar on my left forehead in the shape of lighting bolt, which I constantly try to cover with the messy bangs of my black hair.

Now it comes to the reason why I have to stay in this hellhole with my Aunt and Uncle each summer. Dumbledore, who is the headmaster of my wizard school, Hogwarts, used the very magic my mother invoked to base the wards and shields that surrounds No.4 Privet Drive, in Little Whinging, Surrey. That is my address I'm ashamed to say. While I am at this 'prison' not even Voldemort himself can attempt to attack me.

Of course I am famous because I defeated the dark lord at age one. The wizarding world called me 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'.

"HARRY POTTER!" the bellowing voice of Uncle Vernon came from down the stairs.

I rubbed my eyes wearily and stood. A sudden yawn overcame me, indicating the fact that I really did not get enough sleep. Sometimes I find myself beginning to wonder if sleep is even worth it, all it would bring me was nightmares, that would leave me shaken and sweaty all over. Not to mention the fact that I could occasionally feel a sharp twinge in my scar, that would instantly leave me with a headache.

The nightmares I can understand somewhat now, I relive the scene of my Godfather's death, over and over, add in my lovely experience in the graveyard of Little Hangleton where Lord Voldemort reanimated himself, where a classmate of mine died right next to me, thrown in with a dash of the vague scene of my parents deaths. I read in a magazine just yesterday an article on dreams; it stated that nightmares were the mind's mechanism trying to deal with traumatic levels of emotion experienced by the person. Yip, that's me.

The twinges in the scar are rather a reflection of what Voldemort was up to during the day. He and I are forever linked until through the curse that failed. I could tell you what mood he is in if I am so inclined, or when he casts a Cruciatus Curse. I thankfully have had no bad visions yet, could be something to do with the fact I am under the protections of Privet Drive.

My Headmaster based on this knowledge, arranged for me to learn what was known as the magical defence of the mind against external penetration, so as to not allow Voldemort easy access to my mind: Occlumency. Since the Headmaster did not want to provoke Voldemort using me to gain intelligence through the scar, he literally ignored me for the whole year and asked my most loathed Potions Professor Severus Snape to teach me.

What a disaster.

"I'm coming!" I shouted.

I hurriedly dressed in the best Dudley cast-offs I could find and rushed out of my room to get breakfast. Oh, my Aunt and Uncle rather think that letting me wear all of my cousins cast-off clothes is properly tending to my needs. Considering that my cousin was rather a couple sizes fatter than I am made this a problem. The belt I was wearing on my jeans was strapped to its tightest setting. I suppose I could have long ago bought some normal clothes that fit me, but that would let on to them that I had money, and there was no way I would tell them that. I would be stripped of it within a day.

I sat down at the kitchen table and started piling bacon, eggs and poured some juice. Surreptitiously I studied my relatives. Uncle Vernon had his face hidden behind his newspaper, while my bone thin Aunt Petunia was nibbling like a rabbit on her breakfast. In contrast, Dudley was wolfing down the food like it was air. I abruptly turned from that disturbing sight and quickly got busy eating.

"Boy," said Vernon from behind his newspaper.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," I replied politely.

"Make sure you send a letter to your freaky friends, I don't want all of them traipsing up Privet Drive to check on you," snorted Uncle Vernon.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," I droned automatically.

I finished my breakfast and headed back up to my bedroom and sat in front of my study desk. The surface was cluttered with books, parchment, quills, and ink bottles. On the desk was all my fifth year texts on Defense, Transfiguration, Potions and Charms. Since I had written the Ordinary Wizarding Level Exams, my future subject choices were contingent on my results, therefore I had no summer assignments.

But I knew I would go stir crazy with nothing to do all day, since I was basically under house arrest for my own protection. So I had resolved to restudy my entire fifth year syllabus intensely. Even though I could not practice magic in the summer due to the restriction on underage wizardry, it did not hurt to know the theory behind everything you were doing. The supplementary books I had on Defence I also broke out and studied those as well.

All the morning I sat at the desk and studied, it felt like suddenly the words and concepts were imprinting themselves in my mind. It was rather quite surreal; I could recall perfectly everything I had studied in the past few days. I wonder why I could never learn like this at school.

You were never really and truly motivated then.

I suppose that makes sense. That voice was the voice I hear when I fight an Imperious Curse, odd. I suppose I think of that voice as my conscience.

I was interrupted with a knock on my door and turned to see Aunt Petunia hesitantly enter the room. She looked nervous but it was replaced soon after with her usual look of disdain.

"There is a list of chores that I need done," she stated shortly and placed a scrap of paper on his bed. I picked up the list and skimmed over it quickly. Most of it was backyard garden tending.

"I'll get to it after lunch," I nodded, and braced myself. Surprisingly she only nodded and walked out. That was almost civil for her.

So indeed I found myself in the back garden, donning leather gloves and pulling out weeds and dumping them in the garden refuse bin in the corner of the small yard. The sun was out in full force right above my head, but my strangely lengthening hair shaded the back of my neck from most of it. The only spot I was sure to have a burning was on my arms, my wand holster was now attached to my lower leg.

It took almost two hours of mind-numbing, back breaking work to do all the work in tidying up the back garden. I wonder what the Dursley's did when both Dudley and I were at boarding school. Did they hire a gardener?

In fact, I was rather glad for this work, as it tired me out and left me with too little energy to even contemplate having a nightmare. I was sure to get a good night sleep tonight. It was rather a mistake to think of my nightmares because that instantly brought up the reason I had them, which rapidly sent my emotions on a roller coaster. I felt my heart clench at the thought that I was partially responsible for the death of the only man I truly knew as a father. Rationally, I knew I was tricked, I knew I was used and deceived, but contentment of the mind and that of the heart are rather worlds apart. I familiar cloak of guilt settled on my shoulders and instantly I felt my anger start to rise, anger at myself for getting tricked, at Voldemort, at Bellatrix Lestrange the witch directly responsible for my godfathers death, and even at my godfather himself, for not staying put at headquarters where it was safe.

Thud-thud. Thud-thwack.

I whirled around with my wand already drawn and rapidly scanned my surroundings for danger. For almost ten minutes I waited, tensely scanning the area, wishing I had Moody's magical eye. I sheathed my wand and heard the sound again; it looked to be coming from the house bordering the rear of No.4. Curiosity got the better of me and I pulled a step up ladder, used for pruning high trees. I placed it facing against the backyard wall and extended it to stand properly. Casually, I climbed up and peered into the backyard of the bordering house.

The sound I was hearing was the hitting of leather against leather. A young man that looked to be about in his early twenties was punching against a heavy red punching bag, which was hanging from movable stilts. It looked odd, though; I had seen Dudley's boxing gloves as these big red mittens with lots of padding. The gloves the young man was wearing were more conforming to his hand and had considerably less padding on them and were black in colour.

The man was wearing a sleeveless shirt that clung to a reasonably but not overly muscled torso; and knee length pants with running shoes adorning his feet. He had lengthening dark blonde hair that was wet with sweat.

I was seeing a rather odd phenomenon take place though. I knew how strong Dudley was and the effect he had on his punching bag. My cousin had thick beefy arms to accomplish that. This man though had rather skinny arms in comparison, yet the heavy punching bag he was hitting was flying all over the place with the power exerted through it.

"Hi there," I heard and abruptly realised that the man had stopped punching and was grinning at me. I was sure that my expression resembled something that must have been similar to a deer that was caught in the headlights of a car. He waved in a friendly fashion and started walking towards his side of the wall. I was sure the only thing keeping me in place and not bolting was a desire to not appear cowardly. I certainly knew my reputation with the neighbours, but now that I thought of it, this man was definitely not anyone I knew. Could he have recently moved in?

"What's your name?" he asked. Well that answered that question.

"Harry," I replied with a nervous edge in my voice.

"Well, pleased to meet you Harry, my name is Martin," replied the man. He had bright blue sapphire eyes that twinkled in a remarkable imitation of Dumbledore and just like the Headmaster; Martin looked like he was constantly amused. "Were you enjoying my show?"

"Well, when you started it rather startled me and eventually I decided to have look, see what was going on," I replied rather lamely.

"Indeed," said Martin, "are you interested in my fighting technique?"

"Yeah," I replied in a world of thought away, "how do you get the punching bag to move to the degree that it does? It looks rather heavy. My cousin is a boxer and he can hardly get half the movement out of his punching bag that you do."

The man chuckled softly: "Well, that's rather a secret, that is. I can't just teach or tell anyone. What I can say, is that it is simply martial arts."

"But why keep it a secret?" I asked curiously.

"Consider this Harry, say I train you to use a weapon, any weapon, be it gun, sword, knifes, rifles and so on. And you leave and apply your training with evil intentions. What does that make me?" asked Martin.

"Well, it has no bearing on you personally, it was not your choice to turn to evil, it was mine, so to speak," I answered. Martin smiled on hearing this.

"Congratulations Harry, because of your answer I'll tell you the secret," said Martin with amusement dancing in his eyes.

"So what is the secret?" I asked hesitantly.

"It's so simple, and yet so enormously complex that there is only one word for it, life," said Martin simply, walking back over to the punching bag. Life? Now that was just not the answer. Harry jumped over the fence and followed him.

"How can 'life' empower you to hit like that?" asked Harry with a frown.

"How can life empower you to breathe? How can life empower your heart to beat?" asked Martin in return, resuming his punches on the bag.

I stared at the man who was fast becoming a male Luna Lovegood in my books. I mulled in deep thought for the answer and many possible answers came in my head. All of which I dismissed as an answer almost immediately. Then the only thing that stuck was what I blurted out next.

"Energy?" I asked lamely. Martin stopped punching and looked at Harry with a somewhat shocked expression.

"That must be a record? I must send my sensei a letter about this," murmured Martin to himself. "You are quite correct Harry, energy, or to be more specific I use life energy."

"Life energy?" I asked.

"Indeed," nodded Martin and pulled off his right boxing glove and held his hand in a palm fashion. Martin slowly closed his eyes and relaxed his breathing. I was wondering what he was doing but it seemed obvious that he was trying to demonstrate what he was talking about. For a few moments he just stood there and said nothing, but his face was slightly contorted in concentration. "Touch my palm," instructed Martin.

I felt slightly foolish but decided to give it a shot, so I extended my hand and touched his palm, and had to pull away fast, for his hand felt like a hotplate, it was scolding hot. I blew on my hands and shook them out.

"That is life energy, or what the Chinese call 'Chi'," said Martin letting his breath out in a huff and strapped on his glove again.

"Wow," was all I could say, I never thought that even though muggles had no magical powers such as wizards, whose to say that they did not have other abilities that are totally unrelated to magic, "what would happen if you hit somebody with that?"

Martin stopped punching and turned to stare at me with a single raised eyebrow.

"It would depend where you hit, but if you to hit somebody with such a force over the heart, or any critical area it would be instantly fatal," replied Martin with his eyes dead serious. But after a while they resumed their amused appearance. "So, do you want to learn?"

I looked curiously at Martin wondering why he would offer me this. There were many reasons for it or even against it. But learning anything that could save the life of me and my friends had to be worth it. I recalled the recent battle at the Department of Mysteries. It was a purely magical battle, but there was the odd occasion when it came down to physical force, Neville had saved Hermoine's life by tackling the Death Eater about to cast a Killing Curse on her. I was sure there would be occasions in the future where things would get too up close and personal, where a wand was totally impractical, and most Death Eaters were adults and had weight on their side.

"I do," I eventually answered, "but how do you have the time?"

"Oh, I work only part-time at the bank, my afternoons are totally free," explained Martin dismissively, "learning this though does not happen in a snap. If you worked afternoons with me for the rest of the month you would barely be adept at martial arts, but you will find it satisfying." Martin held out his hand offering it in a handshake, which I accepted.

"Oh what time?" I asked before vaulting over the fence back to Number four.

"Be in the yard at one," he nodded, "see you tomorrow."

****

When I arrived the next morning for training with Martin, I found myself doing the strangest exercises.

"I am teaching you a blend of the martial arts, I am not purely teaching you just Karate, Ninjitsu, Aikido or Judo, but a blend of them all that I find most useful. In today's world I find that Ninjitsu is most suited to our circumstances. It means, the Invisible Way, and its essence is to deceive the enemy of your true intention by presenting them with what we call the 'Shadow'. Practically speaking I throw a strike at your head, to which you react, but my other hand is already striking you in the stomach," explained Martin.

The first exercise involved standing on the balls of my feet perfectly balanced with my feet just slightly wider than shoulder width apart, knees bent, upper arms tucked in to my chest to protect it, while my hands hovered near my face. I had to constantly show my side to the enemy, presenting as little target as possible.

Then I had to learn to walk while in this stance, and had to remain perfectly balanced. We did this for almost an hour continuously, and my legs felt like it would remain that way permanently.

"Now you have to learn, how to fall," he stated.

"What? Why would I do that?" I asked. The question was barely out of my mouth when Martin was suddenly next to me so fast that he seemed to have apparated. With a mighty shove against my chest I lost balance and flailed backward. My arms collided painfully with the grass, which was thankfully very soft as I fell with a huff on my back, all the air gone out of my lungs. My lungs hitched as they attempted to get air back in them and I coughed violently.

"There is your answer," stated Martin calmly, "we can never be vigilant forever. You will be surprised and ambushed, and in that situation it is only instinct that can save you. Learning how to properly fall, gives you two things, time and distance from your enemy."

Now things got really awkward. In the stance I had practiced before, I had to roll on the ground to dissipate the energy from the surprise attack. Forward fall and roll, was when you were attacked from behind and vice versa. The side rolls were helpful to avoid absorb attacks from the side. I could easily see this move as a means to avoid incoming spells while still being able to send off my own back. The most difficult roll was the backwards roll, which required a bit intuition in judging where the ground was, but I got the hang of it eventually. We continued practicing an hour of rolls and evasions.

"This must become instinct, for it to become instinct, it must be practiced and drilled into your reflexes, you cannot think about these moves, it must just come in and of itself," stated Martin.

I collapsed in a huff on the soft grass and stared blankly into space, it was late afternoon and I was dead tired.

"No more training, doing rolls is especially hard on the body, no matter the surface, but eventually you will do this on hard pavement," said Martin and lightly punched my arm.

I was especially thankful for it to end. I barely made it climbing over the fence back to Number four. I immediately grabbed a towel and headed for the upstairs bathroom for a shower.

For the next two weeks nothing especially of interest happened. It all consisted of the same routine. Wake up, eat, study magic theory, eat, train with Martin, have a shower, eat, study some more, pass out dead tired at night.

One thing I was rather surprised about was the lack of comments from the Dursleys about my training with Martin. I would have thought that they would be all in a huff about it and shut me in my room to stop me from perhaps spreading the word about my 'freakyness'.

The sessions with Martin, would always start with movement training, as he termed it. I preferred to think of it as body torture sessions, with all those rolls and balanced walking. Then I was giving unarmed combat instruction.

In which I was rather surprised to learn that to punch somebody with a bare fist is rather a stupid thing to do, considering that the human fist is one of the most fragile structures that the body has. Instead I was taught to use the flat area of my lower palm to hit with; it amazed me to find how hard that area was and how powerfully you could hit and you don't punch; you struck or strike your opponent.

I was also taught deflections, and it was from this that my attack flowed. If a punch was thrown at my face I would either simply avoid it and step into my opponent and hit his nose out, or use the outer arm to redirect the attack away from me. There were various deflections drilled into me by Martin, and each flowed from a specific attack directed at me.

It disappointed me though that kicking had such little attention paid to it in my lessons. When I asked Martin he simply snorted and said: "You only see that in the movies. A kick to the face is the equivalent of a punch to the feet, utterly pointless. A full blown kick takes a long time to deliver, and leaves your family jewels too vulnerable."

I was taught to only use a kick when I wanted to ground my opponent, or break his knee; the only kicks that Martin taught were these low, fast, snap kicks to the shins or knee. He also taught me where to hit, as that was rather important, since it could be the difference between merely angering your opponent and landing him in the hospital. Martin termed these, points of vulnerability. The nose, eyes, sternum, genitals, knees, underneath the arm, the flanks were all such vulnerable spots, at times I felt like I was studying a Mediwizard course.

And finally, he had me learning how to properly knock an opponent to the ground after I had delivered my attacks. He termed these 'Take-downs' and involved removing your opponents balance and tripping him with various back heel kicks.

It was a on the day before my birthday that an unfamiliar owl arrived. I looked at my first correspondence from the wizarding world with rather mixed feelings. At first, joy crept through me, but then a deep pain crept through me. It was the place where Sirius and Cedric were dead, the place where Voldemort threatened everything, the place where my life was controlled at a distance by my Headmaster. The place where my Fate was determined by a damned Propechy!

The owl hooted for my attention and I snapped myself out my rather down the drain introspection. I gingerly untied the letter and the owl drank a bit from the bowl in Hedwig's cage, which earned the unknown owl a glare from the latter.

The letter it turned out was from the Wizarding Examinations Authority. I had never looked upon so much trepidation as I did when I saw that letter. In there was the grades that would determine the job I would be able to get in the future. I hoped desperately for the required grades to get into the NEWT courses required to qualify for Auror apprenticeship. There was nothing else for it and I broke the seal and started to read it gingerly.

Dear Mr. Potter.

Please find enclosed your Ordinary Wizarding Level exam results. We do remind you to decide on your NEWT courses and send them off to Hogwarts as soon as possible so arrangements can be made to accommodate the number of students in the various classes.

Charms Exceeds Expectations

Transfiguration Exceeds Expectations

Potions Outstanding

Defence against the Dark Arts Outstanding with Distinction

Astronomy (Grade is adjusted to exclude practical) Exceeds Expectations

History of Magic Poor

Care of Magical Creatures Outstanding

Herbology Acceptable

Divination Acceptable

Well done on this good performance. It is something to be proud of. You have a total of twelve OWLs.

Yours Sincerely,

Grizelda Marchbanks

I stared at the results and whooped for joy. I was especially gleeful to see the mark in Potions. It would be priceless to see that git's face when he sees that mark. He would probably scorn and snort disdainfully and complain of how low standards were sinking these days. But look at that, TWELVE OWLS, which was just as much as Percy got. I'm sure Hermoine would probably beat that; maybe fourteen would be her tally.

I carefully folded the results letter and placed it in one of my advanced Defence books. I had barely calmed down when in a flash of fire above my head, a brilliant red phoenix appeared, Fawkes; the phoenix had saved my life once, and it had my eternal gratitude and respect for that, his master was another story altogether. Fawkes gently settled himself on my desk and gave a short burst of song, which never ceased to fill my heart with contentment and hope.

"Hello Fawkes," I greeted the bird fondly and it let me stroke his chest and neck. It trilled in pleasure but stuck its leg out and allowed me to see the rather thick letter attached to the brilliant bird. I gently relieved the bird of his burden and it perched itself on the desk. "Waiting for a reply are we? Must be urgent business then," I told the scarlet bird. The letter did rather contain important things.

Dear Harry,

I hear that you are keeping yourself rather busy. So I will get straight to the point in this letter.

Oh yes, I forgot all about them. I had a protection detail from members of Order, it's not like I can see them, due to the fact that they are all under invisibility cloaks. But they're there, wouldn't want their weapon to get damaged would they. I know it's sort of unfair to fault them for that. But I find it rather hard to give a damn, it's not them who have to 'kill or be killed'.

In the weeks since our chat in my office I have revised many things, the most important of which is my attitude towards you Harry. I feel that by delaying in making you aware of the Prophecy, all I have been doing is delaying you in preparing to meet this burden.

That pretty much sums my thoughts up in a nutshell Dumbledore. It would not have hurt for this revelation to come after the Triwizard Tournament. I sighed in a barely contained anger that was untwisting itself around my heart.

As of this moment Harry, do not be afraid to actually practice magic. I have secured an exemption for you. In the eyes of the Ministry, you are now a full magical adult, and are entitled to all of the benefits and responsibilities inherent thereunto. We cannot afford for your training to be hampered by bureaucratic red tape.

Ordinarily the rules that govern underage magic are there for a reason Harry, you are still developing and it's been found that teenage hormones and emotions do not go well with magic. And you could do serious harm to yourself outside of controlled supervision at school.

I say the above as only a precaution Harry. Remember you are still bound to the Secrecy Act, do not do magic in full view of muggles unless you are defending yourself.

This also means that we have a free rein in what you can learn. I am organising for you to have instruction under the direct supervision of Mad-Eye, you will be his apprentice, and suffice it to say, and that you will be taught as an Auror first year. I will personally resume your training in Occlumency and I will instruct you in Apparition.

I could feel my mind being torn between joy and apprehension. I was finally going to be taught all the things I needed to properly survive the coming war with Voldemort. My excitement was tempered by the fact the only reason I was getting this training and why I had the exemption from the Ministry.

The only bit of bad news I have to impart in this letter Harry is that you will have to remain at Privet Drive for the remainder of the summer. Your instruction can only begin when you arrive at Hogwarts for the beginning of the school term.

Now I'm sure you are wondering how you can cope with classes, Quidditch and Auror training at the same time. You won't have to Harry. I am pulling you from the class rotation and you will work full-time as an apprentice with Alastor and me. What about you're NEWTS you ask? Trust me Harry, that before your sixth year is finished that you will be able to more than pass the NEWTS with flying colours; as apprenticeship involves much more intensive work on subjects and really cuts down on the time wasted calling roll, travelling between classes etc. etc,

The longer I was reading the letter, the more and more apprehensive I was getting about it all. I'm beginning to think that the Headmaster would pull me out of Hogwarts all together if it would facilitate my training.

I am also not robbing you of your school life Harry. You will still remain in Gryffindor House and be eligible for the Quidditch team; you will still eat with your classmates at the house tables and so forth. Know that all Educational decrees from last year have been scrapped in addition to your lifetime ban on Quidditch. Professor McGonagall has your broom in her possession and it's been thoroughly serviced and checked for anything untoward.

Onto a final matter, I was hoping you would also consent to continue with the D.A. It means a lot to the students for you to remain among them, and give them the gift of skills that could save their lives in the future.

Please reply to me as soon as possible with your answer to my proposal on your alternate education.

Yours Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

P.S. Harry, you will find in this letter a medallion with the Phoenix symbol engraved on it. This is a Portkey with the Hospital Wing as its destination. It is activated by saying the keyword, "Domus". Just in case.

I shook the letter further and out fell a gold necklace, with a circular pendant attached to it. The symbol of a Phoenix was engraved in deep red on its face. It looked very beautiful, I hesitated for a moment and shrugged of my automatic phobia of Portkey's that I've had since the Third Task. I put it around my neck and tucked it safely away in my shirt, hiding it from view.

I wrote my reply quickly and simply and agreed to everything and sent it off with Fawkes, who disappeared in a flash.

I had already finished my studying for the day and with a grin I brandished my wand and leisurely waved it around my very messy room. Books organised themselves, parchments were folded neatly, the bed was made, and my trunk moved itself to the foot of the bed. I decided it was time to rather renovate my domicile, so with a grin I muttered repair charms at the walls and dresser. The wallpaper repaired itself and with a quick colour change the room already looked much livelier. The dull sun parched colours of the wall were revived and it was not long after that I had my little prison looking as right as rain.

It was with a grin that I hopped over the fence to meet with my afternoon training session with Martin. My smile abruptly faded when I saw what Martin had lying out on a small table that he had brought out. On it was a variety of weapons half of which I could not even identify. Martin himself was standing next to it and twirling expertly a weapon that looked like two thick sticks tied together with a chain.

"What's this?" I asked wide eyed.

"Good morning to you too," smiled Martin genially, "for the past odd month you have had unarmed combat training. What I never told you was that it's also the basis from which you move onto armed combat."

He stopped twirling the sticks and picked up what looked like a wooden practice sword and chucked it at me, which I caught rather awkwardly. He picked up his own wooden sword. I gripped the sword in a way which I felt was proper, it was rather heavy but easy to twirl by twisting my wrists.

"What you must remember is that you should consider the sword an extension of your arm, just like any other weapon you will handle," stated Martin, "all the deflections that I taught you for unarmed combat still apply here."

And he demonstrated by falling into a balanced posture with his sword's hilt near his navel and the blade covering his torso. He then proceeded to show each deflection that I was familiar with by using the sword. I was amazed that he was indeed correct.

He now told me to follow his movements by mirroring him. This was when he showed me the Three Rings of Defence for fighting with a sword. The outermost ring consisted of four guard positions: upper right, upper left, lower right and lower left. The sword's hilt would end up wide of the body, with the tip coming back toward the middle to pick up the grand sweeping blows that are very powerful, but also take longer to deliver.

The middle ring also involved four guard positions: high, low, left and right. Whereas in the outer ring the blade tended to be held at a diagonal, in the middle ring up and down were parallel to the ground at head and knee height, while left and right were perpendicular to it. The idea with the middle ring was to pick up quicker blows and stop them before they could intersect with the body.

The inner ring involves parries instead of blocks and was proof against lunging attacks. For this third line of defence, the sword was kept in close, with the hilt covering the navel. By angling the blade's tip and picking up attacks on the lower third of the blade, attacks could be shunted aside, and a counter to the opponent's chest or stomach became a very real possibility. The inner ring was the last line of defence, dangerous to be defending from, and dangerous to be attacking from.

"On a point of order," said Martin after he finished demonstrating, "I have been doing this since I was thirteen years old, do not expect mastery of this in a day. Once again, like everything else in martial arts, it must flow from your soul and instincts, not your mind."

"Ok, what now?" I asked eagerly.

"You're certainly in a chipper mood today," he commented with a smirk, "any reason?"

"I got back my Ow--Ordinary Levels results," I replied stumbling on the fact that I almost said Owls.

"Ah," was all Martin said to that, "you did well then?"

"Yes, much better than I expected," I replied.

"It is my experience from University that that is usually the case, you study hard and when you actually write the exam all you remember afterwards is what you did not remember or what you know you could not get right or solve. Singularly frustrating, but you pass and that is all what matters," said Martin.

They continued working on the sword for the rest of the afternoon. Doing Kata's or fixed movements with the sword to get a proper feel for it and then practicing combinations where Martin would actually attack me and I had to appropriately deflect the attack. He told me that counters would be learned later.

"Until you can defend yourself, you do not attack," he ordered sternly. By the end of that afternoon, I could feel muscles in my arms I did not even know I had and I could barely even muster the energy to lift them.

I wolfed down dinner that evening and had to smirk inwardly at the look of horror on Aunt Petunia's face at seeing the two teenagers in the house similarly devouring their plates of food. I found that my appetite had rather increased dramatically since I started my training with Martin, plus my nightmares were very few and far between. I'll have to ask him about it.

I immediately went up into my room and shut the door. I took out my letter writing utensils and sent off my NEWT course selections. It took a bit doing to coax Hedwig from her freshly caught rat that she was busy munching on, but she eventually decided to indulge her master and grabbed the letter in her beak and flew off.

Even though I would not be in the class rotation, I would most certainly need to still register for the courses.

I settled into my chair and grabbed my advanced Defence book and started to practice any curse and counter-curse that was not destructive or rather loud. The most curses that fit the bill were Confundus-class curses, which disorientated, removed or overloaded your opponent's senses or sense of reason. There were a few of these that really made me astonished and even red faced with embarrassment at the thought of using or countering some of the curses.

'Comissatio' gave you the experience of a slowly building sexual orgasm, its counter was 'Friggus Imber'.

'Nudus' was exactly like it sounded, it left the victim utterly devoid of clothes, and I could barely imagine using that in a duel, except if I was duelling a witch. It had no counter as such, but it could be blocked with higher level shields, and if you were afflicted with it, you better hope your conjuring skills are good at clothes.

There was much more curses that worked in similar embarrassing ways, but some were humiliating. 'Unrinatus' caused the victim to soil themselves and had no counter but it could be blocked with 'Protego'.

It was on that disturbing note that I closed the book and settled down in my bed, I drifted off into restful oblivion before my head hit the pillow.

****

I had barely woken up the next day when I had to open my window to allow the small flock of owls into my room. The only ones I recognised were Ron's incorrigible Pig, a small elf owl that the girls just couldn't resist but was a terror in terms of behaviour, the Weasley family owl Errol I found immediately by looking on my floor, where the poor old thing had crash landed into unconsciousness. I really had to buy Mrs. Weasley a new family owl, Errol was on his last legs more than ever. Surprisingly enough I also found Hermes among the small flock, being ever the professional, just like his owner. Even Fawkes was there, the rest were all unfamiliar.

I divested all the minor and large packages from the legs of the small flock and after having done their job those who were in condition to fly away did so, while Pig continued to fly in circles hooting like mad. Errol I placed in Hedwig's cage for recovery. Hedwig herself was looking a tad relieved after the minor invasion of owls. She stared with sympathy though at Errol and tolerated him in her cage.

Getting Pig to deliver his package proved to be a bit of a bother until I remembered I could do magic now without fear. A summoning charm made short work of the incorrigible owl.

"Get out of here you," I snarled and threw Pig out the window after having removed his tiny package.

I stared rather in shock at all my birthday presents. It literally filled my entire bed. Caution and paranoia easily won over that excitement as I carefully tested each package for anything untoward.

"Lustro Malus," I muttered waving my wand in a sinuous motion over all of my assembled packages. A soft blue mist shot out and enveloped them. There were no discolorations. Satisfied with the results I dispelled the mist and started to open my presents.

Hermoine, ever the practical one, got me a book. It was entitled 'The Auror Bible' and seemed to be filled with bits of advice from Auror's over the past five hundred years. It also included spells and potions commonly used, there was not much in terms of casting instructions on those spells. But on the whole it was pretty good.

Ron sent me a Chudley Cannons poster that expanded significantly the moment I pulled it out of the tiny envelope it had come in. I sighed. Despite my love for Quidditch I never followed the leagues and International matches. Simply because I couldn't I did not have a Wizarding Wireless nor did I get the Daily Prophet. But from what little I did know of the English League, I definitely would not support the Chudley Cannon's, I only pretend to for Ron's benefit. If I had to choose a team, I suppose it would have to be Puddlemere United, even the Holyhead Harpies. Though the latter was more my hormones talking, since the team was totally composed of witches, most of whom could easily blend in on a muggle Swimwear catalogue any day.

Ginny sent me an Indian Dreamcatcher, which was beautifully, weaved and trailed strange runic symbols that hung below it. The small note had me smiling fondly.

Dear Harry,

For help to stop the nightmares and let only your good dreams through. Unlike muggle ones, these actually work, I don't know how I would have survived without one after my first year.

Love,

Ginny

I pulled out the Dreamcatcher and hung it at my window as the instructions indicated.

Mrs. Weasley sent me some of her delicious fudge and another green jumper with the letter H on it.

The next present, surprisingly enough was from Percy. It was an official document framed elegantly and ready to be mounted on any wall. The document itself read.

This is to certify that:

Harry James Potter

Is a full magical adult in terms of the Magical Law of Great Britain as of this day, 17^th August 1996. By order of the Wizengamot ruling #34-532-23

He is entitled to all privileges and responsibilities inherent thereunto.

Below that were the signatures of Dumbeldore, Fudge, and that of Madam Bones as Head of Magical Law Enforcement and even that of Mafalda Hopkirk of the Misuse Office.

If I thought the document was an eye opener, then the letter to go with it was rather astonishing. It was from Percy himself.

Dear Mr. Potter,

I suppose I could salute you with your first name, but I feel I lost that right last year.

I write this letter as an apology for mistakes that were made by me. It was very easy for me not to face what you and Professor Dumbledore were telling us since the end of your fourth year. You were not alive during the first rise of Voldemort and the Eleven Years of Terror. It was a terrible time. I don't think wizardkind has experienced the like since the Dark Ages, before Merlin came.

You must also understand that you had little proof of your claims at the time. You were the only one to walk away to bear witness to You-Know-Who's resurrection. Your reputation had sadly been damaged by Rita Skeeter's gossip mongering, and as such Minister Fudge did not find much reason to believe you.

My letter to Ron last year to break ties with you, was sent based on assumptions Harry. Firstly, it was based on the incorrect assumption made by Minister Fudge that Professor Dumbledore was using you and your claims of You-Know-Who's resurrection to take control of the Ministry, and possibly even stage a coup. I will not make excuses for Minister Fudge; however, he has grown comfortable in his position, perhaps too comfortable, and will not stand for anything to threaten that.

Secondly, the Ministry is not infallible as you've discovered. I believe the same could be said of Muggle Governments. It's sad that we have to go to war again. And forgive us for not doing so at the word of a fourteen year old teenager even if it is the Boy-Who-Lived. So you ask then why did we not believe Dumbledore then? He is a powerful wizard and he believed you and he is also not infallible, he believed you based on your word. Again that is the problem.

Politics are based on perception, not reality. You were perceived to be 'unstable' and prone to 'fits of hallucination' and 'violence'. Also know that Dolores Umbridge has been sacked from her position here. We instructed her to bring the situation among the students under control at Hogwarts; she went rather overboard in that mandate, to put it mildly. We also know of her ordering the two Dementors to attack you and your muggle cousin.

Again I apologise, may this gift go someway to repairing the bridges we wrongly burned.

Percival Weasley

P.S. Well done on your OWLs.

I stared at the letter and had to read it again a few times to make sure I had seen correctly. Percy Weasley had just swallowed that insufferable self-righteousness and pride and taking a good dose of logic, who would have thought.

I placed the letter on my desk and opened a letter from Neville. He wished me a happy birthday and commented that he had a new wand that was attuned perfectly to him and that he had not performed a spell incorrectly ever since owning the new wand, he even stated that he was worried that his spells were becoming too powerful. As he had cast a simple Cutting Hex in Ollivander's and totally destroyed a chair in process.

I was immediately happy for Neville. He was finally coming into his own and the days of bumbling Neville Longbottom was looking to be gone forever. Both his parents were highly gifted and powerful Auror's and there was just no way that Neville would not follow in their footsteps. The only gift he got me was a book voucher of a hundred Galleons at Flourish&Blotts.

Luna had sent me a crystal swan that sparkled and glowed when you held it in your hand. She said it was from a small wizard community in Sweden and they had yet to find a Crumpled Horned Snorkack. Luna's father owned The Quibbler, a rather interesting wizarding newspaper that could only be termed as unconventional. I had given an interview through Rita Skeeter about the real truth as I saw it about Voldemort's resurrection and the Quibbler had printed it. That edition had sold out three times over and was a real money coup for the Mr. Lovegood, allowing him and Luna to go on the trip to Sweden in the first place for a long deserved holiday.

It was then that I turned to the large box from Professor Dumbledore. I carefully undid the wrapping and opened the box and gasped at what I saw inside. The engraved stone basin of a Pensieve was sitting inside. With hesitation I lifted it carefully and placed it on my study desk, the magically silvery swirling substance inside that represented memories settled into stillness. For a long time I stared at it in shock. What would Dumbledore give me a Pensieve for? I know how to go in it and get out, but beyond that I had no idea. I looked back to the big box for a letter and found but a brief note from the Headmaster.

Harry,

Until you are skilled enough, you will not be able to utilize it fully, but it will serve a rather important service to you now, during the summer. I have enchanted this pensieve in a rather special way, all will be revealed when you are inside, where an interactive memory of me awaits to talk to you.

In you go,

Professor Dumbledore.

It uncomfortably reminded me of Tom Riddle's dairy. But I decided that this was Professor Dumbledore, and despite the fact that I was still rather angry with him, I knew that I could never, not trust the old wizard.

With that last thought I brought my nose forward and let it touch the silvery substance. I felt as if I was suddenly doing a forward somersault and the world around me blurred and was replaced with the infinite void of black. It felt like I was falling through a never ending abyss until finally my feet hit solid ground and I abruptly gained my orientation.

I found myself in a large circular room, easily fifty feet across, with a domed ceiling. Warm light spilled in through ceiling windows and draperies of red and gold hung everywhere. Around the circumference of the room was a constant lining of large bookshelves filled with what could only be magical tomes of knowledge. The floor was carpeted except for the centre where there was tiling, on top of which rested two comfortable armchairs. On one side of the room was a small desk and chair, with parchment and ink on waiting to be used.

I slowly walked around the room and found Professor Dumbledore, or rather the memory of him seated in one of the armchairs. The venerable wizard was in baby blue robes with star burst pattern and wizard hat. His long beard was thrown behind his shoulder. This was not a younger Dumbledore; it was a Dumbledore as I would imagine he looked right now.

With a sigh I sat down in the opposite armchair, and abruptly the memory Dumbledore showed the first signs of life.

"Hello Harry," greeted the wizard kindly.

"Morning Professor," I stated softly, I did not know how to feel in the presence of this Dumbledore.

"Please don't be afraid to talk openly Harry, I am a full representation of myself in all respects, think of me as a magical portrait Harry, I daresay I would not mind if you even let out some steam on me," the wizard twinkled in amusement.

"I ran out of anger weeks ago," I said.

"Indeed," nodded Dumbledore, "I have enchanted this pensieve and given it to you Harry, to rectify a mistake of mine, a mistake which I confessed to you in my office after that horrible night at the Ministry."

"Well, you explained a lot of mistakes," I laughed briefly, "which one?"

"Well, the mistake to isolate you from me, and to not inform you fully of what was going on. There is no question related to your situation that you can ask that is out of bounds, I will answer fully and to the best of my knowledge," said Dumbledore, "another mistake that will be corrected is that of your Occlumency training, you will train with me here in this Pensieve."

"But how is that possible?" I frowned.

"This is an interactive Pensieve you could say, even though I am an enchanted memory you could perform magic in here just as you would in the real world," explained Dumbledore.

"Cool," was my only absentmindedly made comment on this, "can we learn other things too?"

"Of course, you have but to ask my boy," said Dumbledore with a smile and he gestured to the bookcases, "you can ask me to instruct you in any spells you find in these books. Normally I would not have this capacity but this memory of me is linked to all the knowledge that the books contain."

"Can I speak to you about the Prophecy?" I asked with a heavy dread in my voice.

"Yes Harry," nodded Dumbledore gravely, "do not hesitate to ask or talk about it. Understand Harry, that you are even my hope of finally ending all of Voldemort's terror. I cannot do that, only you can. It's in everyone's interest to help you."

I immediately felt the heavy weight of the Prophecy and its burden on my shoulders and I looked down and sighed heavily. It was like a cloak that was fastened with a permanent sticking charm. The responsibility of it was purely unfathomable. I knew the longer I took in preparing, the more people would be killed, but I also knew if I was not a hundred percent sure I was ready to meet Voldemort in single combat then it would be all for nothing.

"What does the Order know about it?" I asked.

"They know only as much as Voldemort knows," answered Dumbledore.

"So they understand to a degree why I have to be protected?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, "but they do not know that you are the only one who can and will defeat him. They believe that you are one possible avenue of Tom's destruction."

I mulled on this thought for a while and thought back to all the Order members I knew, especially to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. They held the love of family for me. Was it only because of the Prophecy? No, it wasn't. They had no idea who I was when they found me looking for Platform 9 ¾ before my first year.

"Who was the eavesdropper who reported the first lines of the Prophecy to Voldemort?" I asked with a heavy dread, I had already suspected who it could be.

"It was Professor Snape," said Dumbledore, "he was assigned that day to shadow me, as Voldemort wanted to be appraised of my whereabouts at all times. But he used the opportunity to communicate his intention to be my spy; he had inadvertently overheard the first few lines of the Prophecy while I was interviewing Professor Trelawney. The owner of the Hog's Head pub, who is a close friend of mine, saw Professor Snpe sneaking about and stunned him, at about the point the third line of the Prophecy was being spoken."

"When I revived Professor Snape, he told me of his desire to turn spy and as a gesture of his good intention he told me about what he had heard," explained Dumbledore, "he had to of course as a matter of priority learn Occlumency so he could withstand Voldemort's Legillimencing skills. He also told me he would take the knowledge he had of the prophecy to his grave, if it came to that."

"So how did Voldemort hear of it then?" I asked barely in control of my anger.

"As I said, through Professor Snape," said Dumbledore, "at one point Professor Snape was under a huge amount of suspicion to being a spy and was subjected to continuous Cruciatus and Legillimens curses to such an extent, that he believed he would lose his sanity and mind. In the end Harry, he fell prey to his sense of self-preservation and allowed Voldemort a glimpse of the prophecy; he also created a false impression of the Prophecy being Obliviated from his mind by me. It earned him reprieve and allowed him to remain in Voldemort's inner circle."

"At the cost of my parents and my normal life," I growled.

"Have you not wondered why Professor Snape, despite his attitude to you, has always tried to save your life?" asked Dumbledore rhetorically, "he has two life-debts that he feels he owes you, those of your parents."

"Enough about the Prophecy," I stated finally, "I still want to be able to achieve something today, " I glanced at my wrist watch, "I have three hours before lunch, let's do some Occlumency."

"Very well," nodded Dumbledore.

****

I emerged from the Pensieve mentally exhausted but exhilarated, Occlumency was no longer some abstract incomprehensible subject that eluded my grasp. The way Dumbledore taught it was different from Snape's method as night was from day. In the three hours I had already achieved some measurable success at it. Dumbledore postulated that he was merely building from the foundation that Snape barely began.

It rather stressed the memory Dumbledore that Snape had not properly instructed me on methods for clearing my mind. And he instructed to me inform his real version of this fact. It had also not escaped the memory Dumbledore that Snape had seemed to use the Occlumency lessons as a form of personal humiliation towards me.

I sat at the kitchen table and with a breathless smile started piling food on my plate. Dudley had long since finished and I could hear him working on his punching bag in the basement. Aunt Petunia was nibbling on her food while staring at the daily newspaper held in her right hand.

It was then that I noticed while munching on some sausages, that on the front page of the newspaper that was facing me, was a big, bold headline about a mysterious illness that had afflicted homeless people living in the streets. I squinted to get a better look at the small typed letters but my Aunt constantly turned a page whenever I just began to make it out. It was a true Gryffindor that asked the next question.

"Aunt Petunia, may I borrow the newspaper when you're done please?" I asked softly. She clucked in an irritated fashion and shoved the newspaper at me forcefully. She finished her last bite and walked out of the kitchen. "Thanks," I replied lamely.

The article told of how over fifty homeless people living in the streets of the shadier parts of London were found lying on the sidewalks in rather awkward poses for people just wanting to get a nap. Policemen had initially tried to wake them up but were unable to rouse them, a subsequent diagnosis by Paramedics said that they all still lived but seemed as if they were in a coma. When taken to hospital, subsequent tests all revealed that all fifty of them were brain dead. Doctors could establish no apparent cause of this and could only hypothesise some sort of new illness not seen before.

It was rather apparent to me what happened. It seemed the Demetors had a feast in London and kissed any one they happened upon in the streets. I folded the newspaper and placed it on the table and headed out to meet Martin.

As usual he was already busy working on the punching bag, he stared at me more intently for some reason and frowned. He then looked around again as if scanning the area. I in turn frowned at this odd behaviour and also looked around, but I could see nothing out of the ordinary.

"Happy birthday Harry," said Martin stopping his punching.

"Thanks," I smiled.

"I have a present for you, but it can wait, I rather suspect we have both been hiding somewhat from each other, there can be no such things between a Sensei and his Sennin," he stated in a determined fashion.

"What do you mean?" I asked nervously, not having a clue what he was getting at.

"Firstly," said Martin and turned to face the side of the fence bordering No.4 Privet Drive, "I am an agent of Dende-Sama, you can take off the Invisibility Cloak."

I could only drop my jaw at the fact that Martin knew what an Invisibility Cloak was. I turned abruptly at the soft swishing sound of a cloak being unfurled and saw the gnarled visage of Mad-Eye Moody appear holding his wand at the ready.

"Argghh, it took you long enough, Dende-Sama is getting lax in my opinion if you are one of his agents," growled Moody.

"Did it occur to you, wizard that I do not want to go prying about sensing the life forces of people constantly, I for one, merely wanted a normal Sennin to train," snarled Martin in return. I could only look on in confusion. Martin turned to me with a soft kind expression on his face.

"I had no idea you were a wizard until today, remember I told you how I can manipulate Chi, well it goes way beyond that, I can sense life force, and what I feel from you marks you as a wizard. I only opened myself to sense you today," stated Martin.

"But why?" I asked despondently.

"I liked the mystery of you, and I enjoyed just training someone for who they truly are, not just based on their talent," his eyes twinkled softly.

"I can understand that," I said, "you are an agent of Dende...what?"

"Dende-Sama, yes," nodded Martin, "he is the guardian of the Earth."

"How can someone be guardian of the entire Earth?" I asked, someone like that had to be powerful.

"He just can be, it's a position he was appointed to on the basis of his powers and the fact there was a vacancy," said Martin, "Dende-Sama himself is not a warrior, he is a Healer and he sponsors and helps others in the defence of the Earth from evil within and without, a person like me."

"Is Voldemort the reason you are here?" I asked.

"Yes and no, Dende-Sama has long since sensed that Voldemort has resurrected himself but it is not his place to actively interfere in the affairs of wizards, not at least until the situation is dire enough. I myself was moved on rotation here, since there is an agent like me in every major city on the planet," explained Martin.

"Oh," I said but then something occurred to me, what could Martin actually do? He stated that he could control Chi, but so far it did not look like something you could take on a Death Eater on with.

"You can go wizard," said Martin to Moody, "Harry is as safe with me as he can be, and I will not kidnap or kill him."

"I don't trust anyone, least of all you," growled Moody, "it is my duty to watch over Harry, not yours."

"Fine be that way," said Martin dismissively, "put on your Cloak and resume watch." Moody snarled threateningly but put on the Cloak.

Martin led me to his table of weapons and handed me a large brown bag made of leather, that was tied closed with some string. It felt quite heavy and I was sure that I heard a rattling inside it as it moved. There was a letter tied to the string.

"That is your present, only open it when you are in your room and make sure it is locked and that you are alone," whispered Martin. I nodded and my curiosity was peaked at what possibly could be inside. We continued the day with sword practice.

I thanked Martin for the gift and took the bag and hurried back to my room in the Dursley house. I closed and locked my door manually and then even cast a Shutting spell on it and warded it for sound.

I untied the leather bag and split it open to see what was inside. I frowned in confusion at what I saw and then turned the bag over on my bed and out rolled seven orange coloured crystal balls. Each ball had a certain amount of five point stars inside it, ranging from one to seven stars. The sparkled with an unearthly light and could definitely see that they were magical.

I took the letter and opened it, curious as to what Martin would intend in giving me this gift. And for that matter, what this gift did.

Dear Harry,

I want to thank you for being a model student, and I hope that I will train many more young men like you in the future. Congratulations on your birthday.

My gift to you is truly a wonder of the Universe. If you received this then I have told you for whom I work, the Dende-Sama. He created these balls. Maybe I could bring you to him one day, for I see the heavy mantle of Destiny on you and you have the soul of a reluctant warrior. One would be blind not to notice.

You now have in your possession seven Dragon balls. If you use them properly you can summon forth Shenron, the Eternal Dragon of Earth. This Dragon has the power to grant you any two wishes you make to it. And I mean any two wishes. The wonders I have seen these things perform in the hands of good warriors is amazing. You can wish those who have passed on back from the dead. I have seen it happen with my very own eyes. My best friend Trunks, died in the defence of Earth, at the time, we desperately needed his help, so we wished him back from the dead.

I repeat, any wish you desire will be yours for the taking.

I must caution you though, think your wish through carefully, and make sure the wording is correct and not open to double meanings. I have also seen a few botched wishes; some of the consequences of those are still with us today. But I digress. There are limits to what the Dragon can do. You cannot wish for more wishes (if you want the Earth destroyed as a result of the mystical energy paradox you would create, go ahead).

You cannot wish back a person from the dead more than once. The rules of the afterlife forbid the Dragon from doing that. (It would also create a mystical energy imbalance in the Universe if the Dragon really tried to do it). You can only wish back a person who died by unnatural means and it must be done within a year of the death taking place.

Harry, I saw the sadness in your eyes, I know your soul is much older than the body you reside in, it's unmistakable. So I give you the advice from the experiences of others who have wished back lost loved ones. Remember what you are doing, you are plucking out a soul, a person, from the afterlife, who by all rights has accepted his fate, and him or her are more than likely very happy where they are now. That is why I would advise you to not even try. Accept their passing, wish rather for the present and future, not the past.

Another piece of advice, take at least a few weeks to decide what your two wishes will be, talk to me tomorrow with any questions you might have.

Yours truly,

Martin

I stared at the letter in dumb shock. If what Martin was saying was true, then I could solve all my problems, in the blink of an eye. I could wish Sirius back. I would not be able to wish my parents back, since they died over fifteen years ago. But then Martin's warning rang through my head. What did Sirius have here that made this life worth living? As I thought it through he could on have me and Moony that made his life worth a damn. His innocence was not proven. I would be wishing him back into the prison of Grimmauld Place, where Dumbledore forced him to stay for his own safety. Did he really have the hope to find love anymore in this life?

As I considered this, I also became aware of the tears that were flowing down my face. Sirius was most likely with my dad and my mother in the afterlife, where he would truly be happy. NO. I could not wish Sirius back. He has passed from this world and it would forever be so. With him died the last vestiges of any childhood that I had ever clung on to.

A new resolution filled me and I put the dragon balls back into their bag and placed it underneath my bed. I hurried back out into the backyard, hoping to speak to Martin. I could not wait to tomorrow afternoon to discuss this.

The sun was low on the horizon and I found Martin on his porch swing, leisurely sipping on what looked to be orange juice. His intense gaze watched my approach, but he remained still and waited for me. I leaned with a emotionless mask on my face against the porch railing.

"That was fast, but I am not surprised you have returned to talk to me about my gift to you," said Martin calmly staring into his drink.

"How can you give me something like that? If it can do what you say, why entrust me a mere sixteen year old boy with it?" I asked bluntly.

"I thought I covered that in my letter, and by all means it can do what I say it can," responded Martin, "as to your age, that is nothing, it's your experience that counts."

"I don't know if I want this," I stated miserably. It brought a smile across Martin's face.

"Why do you think Harry, that I gave you the gift in the first place," said Martin, "if what I sense from you is to be believed you have no possible idea what to wish for. Isn't that ironic, we desire so many things, but once it is within our grasp we are afraid to reach out and take it. I must now amend something in my letter to you, wish not for what you desire Harry, wish for what you need."

I mulled on this thought for a moment. What did I need? Occlumency training for one, could I just wish for that, but it was too small a goal. I definitely needed to be able to fulfil the Prophecy. But how to do that? I needed training way beyond what a normal sixth year would get, and fast, Dumbledore had arranged for this but what if I took too long. I needed to be trained to do things beyond even that Dumbledore was capable of.

"I have an idea, but I need to work on it," I stated.

"Take as long as you need, but not too long, you should make your wish before you leave for your new school year, the gift cannot come near others of your kind. Imagine if you will if it would fall into the hands of dark wizards," he raised a meaningful eyebrow at me. I nodded soberly and headed back to the Dursley residence.

***

The next two weeks of August fell into the new pattern that had been set on my birthday. Mornings would be spent in the interactive pensieve. My Occlumency skills were complete, but I had to now work on my own to increase their effectiveness. Rather much like my martial arts training with Martin, he could show me a deflection, but I had to train it constantly to drill it in as instinct, which is what Occlumency needed to be, instinct, I had to be able to defend myself with no warning of an attack. So I set the hour before I went to bed as the time to practice my techniques.

I decided to forego studying duelling; I would get plenty of that from Moody and the real Dumbledore at Hogwarts. Instead, I asked to be taught the art of Metamorphmagus.

"Harry, you need the natural talent for that," said Dumbledore patiently.

I grinned at the memory of my headmaster. For a long time I had wondered why my hair never needed a cut, or when Aunt Petunia cut it horribly it would grow back to the exact way it was before the cut not a day later. I calmly informed Dumbledore of this and he blinked at me in shock, but quickly recovered himself and asked me for any more instances I remembered with incidents regarding my hair.

"Very well, I will teach you," said the Headmaster and promptly produced a hand mirror and pulled a book from one of the shelves. He handed me the mirror and placed the book on the table in front of me. "Think back to those occasions when you Aunt cut your hear, remember it and recall the emotions you experienced in connection to that, identify that emotion for me and to yourself," said Dumbledore intently.

"Irritation, anger, embarrassment, desperation," I replied finally, recalling the memories rather vividly thanks to my Occlumency.

"Yes, there is the key I think, desperation, you despaired at being mocked at school for your hair in that fashion, use that emotion to fuel the magic," stated Dumbledore, "now extend your awareness to your body, feel every inch of your skin, feel its relation to the world around you, be aware of your body, every cell, every drop of blood, every strand of hair, become aware."

I tried desperately to comply and turned my mind's focus on my body, how it looked, how it felt.

"Summon forth your despair and focus on a specific part of your body, try and lengthen your hair, will it, know that you can do it," said Dumbledore, his voice almost speaking in a chanting fashion.

I gasped a few moments later when I felt something tickling my cheeks and I opened my eyes to see that my hair had grown to my shoulders.

"Well done Harry!" exclaimed Dumbledore. I nodded and felt the first definite signs of a headache approaching. We continued with just working on lengthening and shortening my hair, and even managed the same with my fingernails.

The first day after starting Metamorph training was very difficult, I had a permanent headache and it showed as Martin easily beat me at swordplay. In any free time I allotted myself in the evenings I spent working on phrasing my two wishes to the Eternal Dragon. Martin whispered me to not let on to the fact that I had the Dragon balls to the Order, for they were kept as a story of legend to protect their power from misuse.

August the fourteenth rolled around and by now I could with reliable results change the appearance of my face and the colour of my eyes and my hair. I did not even bother to try and change the scar, since I knew that the magic that it contained was simply too powerful. It was easy enough to hide though, since I could merely grow my fringe to cover it with but a willed thought.

The memory Dumbledore told me that the next step was to move to full body changes. In other words, lengthening my limbs and changing the composition of my musculature, in other words, changing the very nature of my muscles from those that could work long and hard to those that were very quick and enhanced reaction time and reflexes. I decided to continue working on my Metamorph skills full time with Dumbledore, trying to complete my skills fully.

Next I considered what I should do after finishing that training, an Animagus? My father was one, and so was Sirius, should I not follow in their footsteps? But it was a licensed skill by the Ministry. I thought to my goals and wondered whether it would actually help me. Eventually I came to the conclusion that I should ask the memory Dumbledore and see what he thinks.

My training with Martin had progressed to the point where we stopped swordplay and moved to a new weapon. He called it a Bo, but it rather looked like a smooth staff about five and a half feet tall. Fighting with it was rather more complex than with the sword, since you had to worry about where both ends of the staff were and those of your opponent.

Martin brought his staff down to my head much like a sword and I countered by raising my staff parallel to the ground. With an angry crash both staffs hit each other, but not a moment later I was disarmed as the other side of Martin's staff swished upwards and knocked it out of my hands.

"Good for your first try," commented Martin idly, "as I said all weapons are more or less handled in the same way, you just have to get used to the technicalities of it. The Bo is an excellent weapon to learn and even more so it's smaller cousin the Jo, which is about half its length. Can you tell me why?"

"I can find a stick on road and use it in a similar fashion," I answered after a few moments thought.

"Exactly," said Martin with a triumphant grin, "to the martial artist, anything can be used as a weapon, the chair you're sitting on, the belt in your jeans, even your jacket. Have you ever seen a Jackie Chan movie?"

"I recall my cousin watching one a few times," I said eventually.

"That is a good example of using anything available to you as a weapon, and using your environment to your own benefit. All the stuff you see Jackie doing though is very well rehearsed, so don't attempt any of those stunts. But he truly embodies the idea of using everything in your defence," explained Martin with a grin which abruptly faded to frown and he turned to look towards the general direction of Magnolia Crescent and the park.

"Harry, get back to your house this instant," ordered Martin with a calm authority. I frowned for a moment in confusion.

"Why?" I asked.

"I sense the sudden appearance of four wizards at the park, they feel evil," he turned to me with his eyes blazing with a power that Harry had never felt before, "go!"

I nodded and hurried to jump over the fence and for a moment my curiosity pulled me back to peer over the fence. Martin had his Bo in his right hand and abruptly a translucent white aura flared to life around him, the power of it was such that the air was being pulled in a sudden wind all around him and was blowing in my face. I gazed in wonder that a non-magical person could have such power and then got another surprise when Martin's knees tensed and he shot up into the air with blinding speed leaving a trail of white energy behind him as he flew in the direction of the park.

I rushed into the house totally out of breath and wondered what I should do now. I wondered what the Death Eaters, if that's what they were, were hoping to accomplish by this. They could no more approach the house than Voldemort could. It grated against every instinct I had not to rush to the park and help. But I reasoned that the Order had that covered and even if they didn't, Martin would. I briefly wondered how Martin would fare against the Death Eaters, having just briefly witnessed the extent of his power.

I rushed up to my room and as a precaution packed all my things in my trunk, it did not hurt to be prepared after all, with a wave of my wand I shrunk the trunk and placed it in my pocket. I took the bag of Dragon balls out from under my bed and placed it on my desk. I stared at the sole remaining piece of parchment that had my two wishes written on it.

The first wish was the something that I always wanted to do for the Weasley's. I had so much wealth but they would never accept it from me. In this way I hoped to repay them for the kindness showed to me over the years. The second wish was what I believed I most needed; to not only protect myself, but those of my friends, and to fulfil the Prophecy.

A knock on the window disturbed me and I almost fell over in shock at the sight of Martin slightly hovering outside it. His hair was frayed and he had a couple of bruises in his face. I hurriedly opened the window to allow him to jump in; he was out of breath and leaning a bit on the staff.

"You ok?" I asked worriedly.

"Yeah, dark robed wizards all right, one got spell off and grazed me with it, felt like every pain receptor in my body was turned on. But I broke through it and clonked the guy with my staff, the rest I managed to knock unconscious as well. I had to retreat when nine more showed up," he said and closed his eyes, "you said they could not reach you here?"

"No," I answered.

"Well, I sense they're getting closer," said Martin worriedly, "at least a couple of streets away by now. They're doing something."

It was just as he said this that they heard a loud sudden rumble and the very windows of the house shuddered in their frames. Out of the window they could see a column of smoke rising into the air. Another rumble shook the foundations of the number four and two more columns of smoke.

"Harry," said Martin softly, "take the Dragon balls and make your wishes now, just like I showed you. Once you are done, the balls themselves will be scattered over the face of the planet, and they will be safe for another year."

"But..." I started.

"No buts, I will not risk the Dragon balls, I don't care what type of impenetrable magical ward this place has, nothing is invulnerable, GO!" barked Martin. I nodded and grabbed the parchment and bag and ran down into the backyard. In that time we heard another explosion.

"Where is this bloody Order of yours?" asked Martin.

"I don't know," I shrugged helplessly as I set the Dragon balls on the ground in a circular pattern.

"I can't sense any 'friendly' wizard within twenty miles of us," growled Martin. That had me really worried, the last time the Order had abandoned me I was almost prey to a Dementor attack.

The Dragon balls were set and they started glowing with an ethereal red light. It was quite beautiful to look at. I took a deep breath and called the incantation Martin had taught me.

"SHENRON, I SUMMON YOU! COME FORTH AND MAKE MY WISH COME TRUE!" I shouted with my hands extended towards the Dragon balls. A sudden flash of yellow light and energy blinded us both as it snaked upwards into the sky and curled into a serpentine pattern. The energy coalesced and defined itself and from it a huge green and yellow dragon appeared. It looked to me for the entire world like a Chinese Fireball, but without the red colouring. The dragon itself was easily two hundred feet high in the air and it gazed down at me with a rather irritated stare out of its red eyes.

"YOU WHO HAVE AWAKEND ME, I WILL GRANT YOU ANY TWO WISHES. SPEAK NOW FOR I HAVE VERY LITTLE PATIENTCE!" its voice boomed out like a super charged Sonorus spell.

"Don't worry about it being seen Harry, as soon as it disappears it will fade from the memory of any witnesses, besides you who have summoned it, and me because I have knowledge of it," instructed Martin. I nodded and read the first wish out to dragon.

"HMMM....VERY WELL," it murmured and its eyes flashed, "IT IS DONE, WHAT IS YOUR FINAL WISH?"

"I wish for the training to be able to defeat the dark wizard Voldemort and all his supporters!" I shouted at the Dragon.

"INDEED, YOU ARE FATED TO DO SO IT SEEMS! BUT I CANNOT GRANT YOU THE KNOWLEDGE IN THIS FASHION! IT WOULD KILL YOU! BUT I CAN SEND YOU TO A PLACE WHERE YOU CAN GAIN THIS KNOWLEDGE WITHOUT THE FEAR OF TIME PASSING HERE WHILE YOU ARE THERE! HOWEVER IT WILL BE UP TO YOU TO FIND A WAY BACK TO THIS DIMENSION! IT IS DONE!"

I abruptly doubled over in pain and briefly caught the glimpse of green fire enveloping me and the sudden feeling of my ties to this reality being pulled apart. It was extremely painful. And the world gave a lurch all around me as if I was being pulled by Portkey. And as the darkness claimed me, I knew that I was gone.

*****

Martin had just witnessed the form of Harry disappear from this dimension when the Dragon groaned and dissolved itself. The Dragon balls glowed yellow now and shot up into the sky and a starburst pattern of yellow spread out in all directions as each of the balls spread itself dormant around the planet.

He abruptly flared his white aura again and shot into the sky heading for the home of Dende-Sama, who would no doubt be wanted to be made aware of the situation personally.

****