by Draeconin

See Chapter One for disclaimer and details.

Chapter Five

Harry didn't think he had ever seen an Oriental man before, but his PE teacher was. What surprised him was that the man spoke perfect British English; he didn't sound foreign, at all. Harry found out later that Mister Hou was a British native, albeit one who had been raised in and around London's Chinatown. He'd left Hogwarts about forty years previous, but due to the wizarding population's general longevity, he was only considered to be just approaching middle age: but still a very strong, vigorous, and agile man, yet.

Harry wiped the sweat from his face as he panted for breath. He had thought he was in pretty good shape, after the 'outing' with Snape and the travelling he'd done before he'd got to the school, not to mention the hunting, but Mister Hou - James Hou, his PE teacher - had looked at Harry and had immediately set him to running laps along a three mile long cross-country course over varying terrain. And he wasn't allowed to jog. No, Harry was to run the course full out. He'd done well for the first mile, started feeling the strain towards the middle of the second mile, but at the end of the third he was dragging, barely walking, and completely nackered.

Of course running wasn't the only training Harry was getting; he was also getting some beginner weight training, and learning tumbling as well as doing the advanced calisthenics. That last was as far as some of the pure humans would push themselves, believing magic was all they needed. Within a couple of months, if Harry did well, Mister Hou had said, acrobatics would be added to his curriculum. And at about that same time, Harry's martial arts training would be started. He would have to work a little harder to catch up to the rest of the beginner class, but Harry swore to himself he'd do it.

Mister Hou was counting on Harry's vampiric tendencies, his speed, quick healing and natural grace, to allow the boy to develop and advance so quickly. He fully expected that by the end of three years Harry would have mastered the unarmed combat style he taught, and become proficient with at least one weapon, and perhaps two. Then they'd get into the hard stuff.

What would make the training important enough to Harry to make such an effort?

Harry had learnt of his history shortly after start of term from some of the students who seemed to have a hero worshipping complex regarding him. He had learnt of his parents' deaths and the evil wizard who called himself 'Lord Voldemort' who had killed them, and tried to kill him. And he had learnt that somehow, he had survived the killing curse that had killed his parents when the arsehole had tried to kill him, too. The problem was, those kids had told him, that although most people thought the terrorist dead and gone, there were some who thought he might come back: never mind that even if he was dead, Voldemort had left loyal followers behind who would try to kill him on sight just because of that little debacle.

Even if he'd doubts about that story, since kids liked to exaggerate and make things up, there was that little conversation with his PE teacher when Harry finished that first lap.

"When you can do three laps and still breathe easily, Mister Potter, we will start your self-defense course," Mister Hou told him.

Harry looked at the man disbelievingly. Three laps? It would kill him!

"It would do no good to know how to fight if you tired too quickly," the Asian man replied to Harry's expression.

"Why do I need to know how to fight, anyway?" Harry asked. It had sounded cool at first, learning martial arts, but Harry had no idea it was going to be such hard work.

"Not all of You-Know-Who's followers were caught after his downfall. It would be best if you knew how to defend yourself."

Harry was shocked that the stories the kids had told him might actually be true, but he only nodded. He hadn't any intention of dieing until he was old and gray, although he really couldn't imagine himself looking like that.

Harry's other classes included Potions, Magical Offense and Defense (with no differentiation between 'light' and 'dark' magic), Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy and Runes, which was a three hour combined course, since arithmancy was often used to determine how best to combine runes. Amongst other uses to which those skills could be put, the class was a prerequisite for learning how to erect wards, a subject in which Harry had felt an interest since the goblins had occasionally made mention of them during his time at Gringotts. History (of both magical and mundane Great Britain) was also required, along with Botany, Sociology (which would eventually cover all the magical races), and Latin.

Considering the school's leanings toward Greek culture, Harry had wondered about that last, but the explanation - that spells in Western culture were mostly in Latin so it behooved them to understand the language - made at least a modicum of sense. Next year he'd be able to choose a few elective courses.

There are three major classifications of magic: Light, under which you'll find housecleaning charms and most healing spells, as well as a great many others, Grey or 'Dark' magic, an example of which would be hunting or battle spells such as those used by law enforcement wizards, as well as blood magic and many rituals, and Black Magic, which harms the caster as well as the person whom it is cast upon, although in a different way. Most of the time the damage to the caster is psychological, but other types of damage occur, depending on the spell or ritual. Under that heading, the most well-known are those spells which the Ministry of Magic of Great Britain has termed 'The Unforgivables'. However, over the last two hundred years or so, the Ministry of Magic had classed most dark magic as being illegal, having blurred the lines between it and black magic due to ignorance, superstition and/or the magic requiring more magical power than most of those in control of the government were capable of mustering.

Never mind the fact that quite a lot of 'Light' magic could be just as deadly as any other sort, if one put their mind to it.

Headmistress Mountbank had requested from Gringotts, with Harry's consent, a copy of the results from the heir potion, and as a result had recommended that Harry have the genealogy potion brewed. Harry had donated the blood needed (a scant quarter ounce), and a week later the headmistress had again called Harry to her office.

"Helling, Mister Potter?" she said, opening the conversation.

"Headmistress?" Harry replied, confused.

She pierced him with her gaze, then relaxed, her expression softening. "You haven't the first clue, have you?"

Harry, completely lost, merely shook his head.

Mrs Mountbank sighed and sat back in her chair.

"The Hellings, Mister Potter, are - or rather were - an obscure family - they worked to keep it so - although their line could be traced back further than Myrddin himself."

Harry frowned. He couldn't see the significance. What did this have to do with him? "Yes, ma'am?" he prompted.

"It seems you're their heir," she disclosed.

Harry was still frowning. "The goblins told me I was heir to many of the smaller families who had died out, ma'am," Harry prefaced, "but you make it sound as though this family was significant, somehow."

Alanna gave a small, petulant frown of her own, shaking her head, displeased with her own reaction to that name. "Just rumours, Mister Potter," she said with a sigh.

Harry's frown become less confused, and more determined. "I'd like to hear it, if I may."

The woman looked up and focussed on Harry, then seeing Harry's expression, gave him a wry smile. "They're rumoured to be descended from Hecate."

"Who?"

Alanna's smile became a smirk. "The Greek goddess of witchcraft, Mister Potter!" she revealed. "Whatever is your school teaching you?" she asked, winking playfully at him.

It had the desired effect; Harry grinned.

"What it means, however, is that your social status will be quite high, so it will behoove you to prepare for your place in society."

Harry nodded, but remembered the impression she'd given that she'd been just a bit brassed off by his being the Helling heir. Was she also related, or had she only wished to be kept informed and had thought he was deliberately keeping that information hidden? Or was there something else? Harry determined that as soon as possible, he'd be browsing the library for more information on the Helling family.

As a result of his newly discovered social status, Harry would be taking quite a few other courses over the course of his stay at Mount Carlen's, from wizarding politics and law to art and dance. A classical education was a must if one wanted to hold their own in wizarding society, and Harry would likely be thrust into the heart of it, whether he wished to be or not - provided he was able to hide his vampirish nature. If he was found out, he'd likely have both Voldemort's followers and the Ministry of Magic after him. Illusion charms were going to be a must. And since Harry's social education was years behind that of his peers, he would be working weekends and holidays, including summers, to catch up before he was thrust into the position of needing those skills - which meant hiring tutors.

"And you need a guardian," the headmistress stated. "We are on fairly shaky legal ground at the moment."

"But... aren't the Dursleys my guardians?" Harry inquired.

"No. They've been dismissed," Alanna revealed, not going into detail. There would be plenty of time for those, later.

Harry was shocked. "She's my aunt!" he protested, although he didn't know why.

"And were found to be unfit to raise you," the woman countered.

Harry looked at her, feeling quite lost. Although he was grateful to be free of the Dursleys, he now felt rather lost in limbo. "I... I don't know anyone else, Headmistress."

Alanna sighed again. She seemed to be doing quite a lot of that, lately. "I rather thought that might be the case. Would you have any objections to becoming a ward of the school?"

Harry was confused again. "How can a school be a guardian?" he asked.

"As the headmistress, I would, of course, be responsible for you."

The boy looked at her, thinking it over. "You've no plans to retire any time soon, have you?"

Alanna laughed. "No, not any time soon."

Harry weighed her words, then nodded. "Then that would be fine, thank you," he decided. Almost anything had to be better than the Dursleys.

"It will take a few days to retrieve, and then file the paperwork. I shall call you when it arrives."

Harry nodded, only half listening. "I suppose I should tell Riptorn," he said aloud, although he was mostly speaking to himself.

"Riptorn?" the headmistress inquired.

Reminded of her presence, Harry focussed on Mrs Mountbank. "The goblin who tends my Gringotts account," Harry explained.

Mrs Mountbank was silent a moment, thinking. "Yes," she murmured, "that might work quite well."

"Headmistress?"

Alanna suddenly stood from her desk. "Let's do that now, shall we?" she said with a grim smile.

Walking over to the fireplace, she took down a jar from the mantle and handed it to Harry. "Just a pinch," she said, keeping in mind Harry's Muggle upbringing.

Harry looked at her, bewildered. "For what, ma'am?"

Evidently he knew less than she thought he did. "You don't know about the Floo System?"

"No, ma'am?"

Alanna took back the jar of floo powder. "What was that goblin's name again?" she asked.

"Riptorn, ma'am."

"He has his own office, does he?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The woman nodded in acknowledgment of the information, then knelt and took a pinch of floo powder from the jar and threw it on the fire, which turned green. Sticking her head into the fire, and ignoring the sharp intake of breath behind her, she called out, "Gringotts bank, goblin Riptorn's office."

A few minutes later, Headmistress Mountbank had a small sheaf of official paperwork in hand, and an agreement with Riptorn that he would file the paperwork. Since goblins were looked down upon, little attention was paid to the paperwork they filed, and it was likely the clerk handling the approval and filing at the Ministry of Magic wouldn't realise the significance of it until it was too late.

A couple of hours after that, the papers were filled out and back in Riptorn's hands. Much faster than doing everything by owl post.

Of those electives Harry would be choosing in his second year, he'd already decided, was going to be political science, estate management, warding, and he'd decided it might be a good idea to be able to speak with the managers of the wizarding economy in their own language, so Gobbledygook was also going to be listed. Of course some of those things would be taught him in his free time - well, what had been his free time - but it couldn't hurt to get class credit for it as well.

He'd noted a class on divination being offered, but wasn't really interested. It sounded even more unlikely than magic: although that had been proven true, so... Harry bet it wasn't something just anyone could do, though, and he'd certainly never had any indication he might have such an ability. There were many times he'd wished he could know when and where he was likely to get in trouble and what would cause it, so he could avoid it. It had never worked, though. Even learning, as he had been forced out of self-preservation, to read body language, facial expressions and other non-verbal cues, he wasn't always able to avoid trouble.

Fortunately for Harry's peace of mind, since he'd be taking so many subjects, the classes were each held only twice a week. You were expected to study and do your homework on your own. Even Mister Hou made it plain that he expected everyone to exercise every day, regardless of classes (which directions most ignored in favor of less physically taxing lessons).

Potions was very interesting. In fact it was almost fascinating how you could combine things that should have made nothing but a gods-awful mess, and come up with a potion that, depending on the ingredients, the preparation of those ingredients, and the method of brewing, could do almost anything.

Most of his classes, in fact, were each enthralling in their way. There were exceptions to that rule, unfortunately. History was deadly dull, for instance. Who cared that Mildred Thallen invented the Tarantallegra Curse (or was it a hex?) in 487 CE¹? Wouldn't it be more interesting to know what had caused her to want to do so in the first place? And learning wizarding traditions, manners, comportment and other related subjects were also very boring. At least with those, though, Harry knew he was learning things that would be useful, and would make his life easier.

For the first six months Harry went to bed tired almost every night: except on weekends. The reason wasn't due so much to his physical activity, although that did figure into the equation, but due to magical exhaustion. He wasn't used to using his magic, and like a physical muscle, it needed working in order to get strong. He also had a tendency to use too much 'force' when working magic. He hadn't been brought up to believe in it, and so subconsciously expected it be much harder than it was. And his wand didn't help. It was so finely tuned to him that working magic through it was like pouring a bucket of water through a foot wide pipe: no resistance at all. That, of course, meant that he had to learn control so that he'd have reserves of magic when he needed them.

"Jeffries."

Several heads turned around at the summons, most in curiousity, but three wondering if they were the one being summoned.

"Tynan Jeffries," Mister Hou clarified.

He had come to talk to the boy about the quidditch team the boy captained, of which he was the staff supervisor. One of the team chasers had been bitten whilst attending the Magical Creatures class, and would have to miss the next game. They needed a substitute.

A game of darts was being played by the younger years when he'd walked in, however, and he'd taken a minute to watch it. The Potter boy was fairly consistent in his aim. He showed promise.

Hou had only been expecting to train the boy in knives and, if he showed promise, a Japanese short sword, though which type would have to wait upon Harry's further development. Now, he might add darts to that list: bo shuriken.

Half an hour later, the game of darts ended, and Harry wended his way to his room, Alex at his side. They found Kit writing an astrology essay that had been assigned two days before.

"You're still not through with that?" Alex inquired.

Kit shrugged in answer, but otherwise ignored their presence.

Alex shrugged, with an 'oh, well' tilt of his head, and almost skipped over to his own desk. "Suppose I ought to start my Herbology work," he said to nobody in particular, pulling the appropriate textbook down from the overhead shelf.

"How about you, Potter?" the boy asked.

"I'm all caught up, I think," Harry replied absently.

Harry's tone caught Alex' attention, and he looked at the dark-haired boy. Harry was sitting on his bed, playing - or rather fiddling - with something shiny.

"What have you there, Harry?" Alex asked.

"Found it in my parent's vault," Harry replied unhelpfully.

Alex got up and approached Harry. "Yes, but what is it?" he repeated.

Harry showed it him. It was an elaborately and strangely coiled snake: it looked to be a cobra of some sort. It was made of a silvery metal with what appeared to be small rubies for eyes, it's mouth wide open in threat, and its fangs, tiny as they were, prominently visible.

Alex looked at it curiously, then relaxed and smiled. "Oh, I know what that is; my mother has a few, although none of them are snakes. That's an ear wrap, that is."

"An ear wrap?"

"Yeah," Alex said, reaching for it.

"No!" Harry exclaimed, holding the jewellery close to him protectively. "It was my mother's." He was only assuming of course, but if Alex' mother wore similar things, his own had probably worn this.

"Easy, kid," Alex said soothingly. "I only wanted to show you how it's worn."

Harry was insulted to be called a kid by someone only two years older than he, but he wanted the information enough to overlook it. "Just... tell me," he requested.

Alex did, using his fingers to demonstrate how the coils would be wrapped around the ear, keeping it on.

Harry put it on, adjusting it several times until it felt comfortable and secure, then smiled at his friend.

"Thank you," he said.

Alex smiled at the boy wryly, shaking his head in amused disbelief - the guy was wearing women's jewellery, for Merlin's sake! - and returned to his desk and the homework awaiting him there. "No problem, mate," he said.

A moment later, Harry felt a small movement by his ear, and a small pinprick. "Ow!" he said, slapping the ear. "You'd think with all this magic about, someone would discover how to keep mosquitos out," he complained.

'That was no mosquito, young master. That was me.'

'Who?' Harry asked in a half panic, looking around. He had talked to snakes on occasion, when they were willing. Most had been eager to be on their way. And there had been one that would rather try to bite, than talk, which was why Harry liked to keep them in sight. But there was no snake around that he could see.

'Yes, you are indeed of the line of my first owner,' the voice said, and then Harry felt movement on his ear as the piece of jewellery settled in more firmly, becoming so comfortable to Harry that he couldn't really feel it any more - he could only barely sense it was there.

Harry tried to snatch it off, but only managed to hurt himself. It seemed that the silver snake had bonded to his skin.

'Stop that!' the snake commanded. 'I'm not about to harm you, now that I've accepted you. And I can be most useful.'

The snake's words were hardly comforting. What would have happened if it had not accepted him?

Harry asked.

'Pain. An acidic poison that would have you cutting off your own ear to be rid of the pain.'

Hary shuddered. 'Have you ever had to use it?'

'Only once,' the snake replied, sounding very self-satisified. 'A Dutch painter who stole and sold small things to make ends meet.'

'You said you could be helpful?' Harry cautiously inquired.

'So I did. My purpose is to enhance memory and learning speed,' the snake replied. 'I can also, if you study the basics of the skill, aid you in learning Occlumency.'

'Which is...?' Harry inquired.

'Protecting your mind.'

'From-'

"Potter!" came Kit's exasperated voice. "If you're going to talk to yourself, could you do it a little louder? The constant hiss, hiss, hiss of you whispering is driving me mad!"

A few hours later Harry had the opportunity to talk to the learning aid again. He didn't learn a lot more, except that the ear wrap would come loose when Harry knew enough to be able to integrate into and function in wizarding society, and have a basic ability to protect himself. It would still be able to be worn and used after that, but would never again bond with his skin.

The mind healer Harry was seeing had decided, after a couple of months, that Harry needed to learn occlumency to order his mind and make it easier to deal with his past and put it behind him, hopefully shortening the time Harry needed to heal. So far the boy had managed to avoid facing any but the most trivial of his experiences. It was progress, but far too slow.

It was good timing, insofar as Harry was concerned. He now had Whisper, as he'd named the piece of jewellery after Kit's outburst during Harry and Whisper's first talk, to help him in the task. Of course Whisper was not a companion nor even an advisor; that was not its purpose. It didn't have much of a thinking mind. It could relate things that had happened around it - him, Harry had arbitrarily decided - but couldn't speculate about any of it. So if something had been said or taught in Whisper's vicinity while he was active, he 'recorded' it and could relate it back, and talk about things relating to his purpose, but not much else.

Wary now of the dagger and the necklace with the silvery pendant which had whirlpools of colour swirling across its surface, Harry took them to Professor Smith.

"You say the snake won't come off?" Smith inquired, peering at it curiously.

"No, sir," Harry replied. "But it says its just a learning aid. I guess I got lucky. I'd like to make sure the dagger and necklace are safe, though."

"We'll have to do some tests on that ear... thing later, but I think I'd like that to happen in the infirmary in case of adverse reactions."

Harry didn't like the sound of that. "Is it necessary, sir?" he asked.

"Hm? Oh, yes, well, I'd think so. Do you really want something magical attached to your head, and you not knowing everything about it?"

Reluctantly, Harry had to admit the man had a point. "No sir, I suppose not," he said.

"Good. Now, about these other items of yours..."

It turned out the necklace had a minor climate charm, which made the wearer comfortable in all but extremes of temperatures (below forty degrees fahrenheit, and above one hundred²), and several minor protection charms on it. The dagger was just a dagger, although it was a special type of dagger. The only magic on it was to make sure that it could only be handled or worn by the one with the right to do so.

"It's a ceremonial dagger, Mister Potter," Professor Smith informed him, "meant to be worn at formal functions. Its only purpose is to inform those who see you wearing it of your status."

"My status?" Wait. Headmistress Mountbank had said he would be high in wizarding society. That's why he had all that tutoring, now. But Professor Smith was replying to his question before Harry could clarify his question.

"Why yes. Didn't you know? If you're able to handle this dagger, then you're a lord."

"A lord?" Harry questioned in disbelief. "Of what?"

Professor Smith shrugged. "That, Mister Potter, you'll have to find out for yourself. I'm afraid I haven't a clue."

And then someone in the Department of Education in the Ministry of Magic came across Harry's file, and notified Dumbledore. The first thing the old man did was find everything he could about the school and its headmistress, both of which he'd ignored as being inconsequential - to the point of still claiming Hogwarts as the only school of witchcraft and wizardry in Britain. In that, he was following a tradition handed down from the other Hogwarts headmasters ever since the other school's inception. Not that tradition made it right, but while not a bad man, Dumbledore had many blind spots. This was just one of them.

A couple of weeks later, upon finding that Harry's status as a ward of Mount Carlen's was ironclad, the old man had finally, after many missives back and forth, convinced Mrs. Mountbank to allow him to drop in and reassure himself of Harry Potter's health and safety.

Harry watched the old man come into the dining hall, Headmistress Mountbank beside him and talking earnestly to him. The old guy didn't seem to be paying much attention to her, his eyes roving over the occupants of the room.

Heh! He looks like a caricature of Merlin, Harry thought in amusement. Wonder if it's deliberate? He'd been informed - warned, really - of Dumbledore's intended arrival that day. But Harry had only had one very short and confusing meeting with the man just before he'd been hauled to Diagon Alley that day he'd been kidnapped. Madam Pomfrey had been Harry's main human contact at Hogwarts. Oh - and when Snake... Snape? - had come to get blood from Harry for the genealogy potion he'd been brewing for Harry.

As soon as the old man spotted Harry, he turned and walked away from Alanna, leaving her gaping at him for his rudeness.

How dare he! Harry fumed. He'd been having lessons in wizarding manners, and while he still had a long way to go, Harry knew that what the old man had done was just short of a duelling offense.

"Ah, Harry, my boy. How are you?"

Harry ignored the greeting. "If you thought your insult to our headmistress would go unrecognised, Mister Dumbledore, or that it would endear you to me, then you are sadly mistaken."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't play the innocent with me, sir. I'm not the only one in this hall who witnessed it."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, my boy."

"Firstly sir, that is the second time you have called me your boy. I have not given you leave to be familiar with me. You will call me 'Mister Potter', as befits our-"

"Now, Harry, I-"

Harry's eyes grew so cold, they burned. "I believe our conversation is over," he said, before turning and stiding towards the exit of the dining room.

"What have I done?" came the old man's voice.

Harry turned. "Your error was two-fold," he said, his voice as cold and hard as his eyes. "I believe with time, my dear old man, you may figure it out. When you do, please, feel free to not contact me about it." Harry then turned and once again started making his way out of the large room.

"Mister Potter!" came the old man's demanding voice, his blue eyes showing a trace of ice.

Harry stopped and turned around. "Yes?"

"It is time you returned to your parents' alma mater."

"My parents are dead, sir. They made their choices, and while I would like to know more about them, I-"

"I can put you in contact with those of their friends and teachers who still live," the old man said calmly, the twinkle in his eyes returned.

Harry gazed at the old man, thinking. He was sorely tempted, but not at the cost of his freedom of choice. "No," he replied decisively. "Perhaps one day, but not now."

Dumbledore's eyes again gained a hint of ice. "May I ask why?"

Harry smiled, but there was no warmth or humour there. "You, sir. Or rather, your arrogance. I will not become a pawn for you, nor-"

"My dear lad, I-"

"And that, sir, is the other reason," Harry said, interrupting the old man in his turn. "You seem incapable of treating others as equals. Good day, Mister Dumbledore."

This time Harry had no intention of turning back, no matter what was said. He was still a bit surprised to hear no other attempt for his attention or demands for his presence being made. The old man didn't seem the type to give up easily.

Nor did he. Dumbledore went back to his own school, and sent Harry a letter almost every week. But when one of those letters begging Harry to reconsider his decision showed up bearing a minor compulsion charm, Harry decided to burn, unopened, any other missives that arrived for him from either Dumbledore or anyone else at Hogwarts. But he made a point of learning the spell, and its counter.