The next few weeks of school were as awkward as they were surreal.

Tonks and Harry hadn't told anyone about the fact that Greyback was now dead, which meant that the teachers and the students stayed on high alert. The newspapers reported on the case, and the Auror Department occasionally gave apologies for the fact that they weren't making any progress. Professor Potter looked incredibly stressed, although if that was due to the werewolf situation, or the possibility that Albus had not shared with him the fact that the curse on his position might have been broken, was up in the air.

As for the headmaster, he remained elusive, only appearing at dinner in the great hall on very rare occasions.

Perhaps it was a testament to the fact that Harry had been overly paranoid about his Occlumency back in the day, that Tonks, who had no defences, and probably thought about that night a lot, hadn't given up the secret to anyone. He'd ended up telling her about the Room of Requirement, after verifying that the diadem was gone. She used it for the dummy, and for learning magic sense, something he'd recommended she work on.

Harry did feel a bit dumb there at that specific moment, but his shields provided him with a peace of mind, which was almost as important as an actual defence.

Everything else? Business as usual. Flitwick continued instructing Harry, joyous at every point of progress. They finally finished up the disarming spell and started working on some other tricks for the tournament that Harry was now officially signed up for. It would be happening in Austria, Vienna. The former seat of the Habsburg empire, but also one of the places from which Grindelwald had launched his conquest initially, all those decades ago.

He continued practising Potions with Penny and occasionally helping Cedric with Transfiguration to get him that O+ again. His Magic Sense continued developing, as did his wasp conjuration attack.

Classes were more fast-paced due to the upcoming exams, but just as easy as they'd always been. All the subjects except Potions and Arithmancy required minimal effort to stay on top of, something that frustrated many of his classmates in the subjects he'd advanced in. The pressure on them was higher, now that they risked being outperformed by someone a year, or two younger than them.

Eventually, after the next full moon, people realised that the werewolf hadn't done anything in two months.

Maybe the monster had moved on.

The exams passed in a blur. His Patronus assured him a perfect grade in Charms and DADA, and while McGonagall was disappointed by the fact that Harry did not seek to advance in Transfiguration, she was impressed by his wasp conjuration.

The year ended with a whimper, not a bang, all the narrative momentum being used up in the last few chapters. After saying goodbye to his friends, to Hogwarts… To the library, from which he'd made many copies, there were only two important conversations that Harry still needed to have before he could complete the year with no loose threads. He'd end up having three important ones because even if he hadn't realised it, other people included him in their plans as well.

The first conversation occurred in the Room of Requirement, after one of Harry's Magic Sense practice sessions. He was working on detecting smaller and smaller amounts of magic in the void and had managed to work his way down to a spoon that was enchanted to always stay see-through. A useless thing, when one considered that this enchantment also made it incapable of actually holding any liquid as a side-effect.

"We've been avoiding the conversation long enough," he started, addressing his Mind Arts mentor, who sat on his head as usual. "I need to know if you still want to come with me, or if you want to stay in the castle."

The hat slumped on his head, and Harry could literally feel the metaphorical gears turning inside it. Then, it began telling a story.

A story about Godric Gryffindor. A young and hot-blooded combat mage extraordinaire. A British wizard who was at the time, considered the best duellist alive. Hailing from a small village now named Godric's Hollow, the man travelled the continent in his youth, defeating foes and saving princesses from dragons. And on one special occasion in Romania, dragons from a particularly vicious and hateful princess.

All the while he left behind him people confused as to how they had lost against him in the duels he'd challenged them to. They had all underperformed, not used their best spells, and succumbed to terrible and sudden headaches.

One thing that history had forgotten about the man, or perhaps never known in the first place… Was that he had been an absolute master of the Mind Arts. An obscure branch of magic used to befuddle one's foes into making fatal errors, in situations where no fatal errors were allowed.

The man travelled, eventually taking an apprentice, as was common. A brave boy with more courage and heart than brain. A boy completely untalented at magic, but very good with a sword and with the lute. It was here that Godric decided to make a sacrifice to fulfil his student's dream of being an adventurer like his master. A troubadour. Godric had won a goblin-forged sword, made from a material that absorbed magic and the attributes of the things it killed.

He infused it with his magic, specifically, his knowledge of the Mind Arts.

Eventually, the sword gained a mind of its own and the ability to use Legilimency at the level that Godric had used it at the height of his power.

The boy took the sword, gratefully, as was fitting, before striking out on adventure. It was a fun year, full of music, laughter, and protecting the innocent. Then it ended in tragedy. What use was one wizard who couldn't apparate against a pillaging army? Virtue might have protected the villagers, who'd gotten enough time to flee, but it hadn't protected the hero from being killed by the mass of enemies. No matter how many enemies his magical sword was capable of striking down, an army was like a hydra. Two heads growing to replace each one lost.

Godric arrived too late. The only thing that remained was a bloody corpse with more holes than meat and a sword stuck in its chest as a last respect towards a fallen warrior.

That was when a necessity became clear.

A necessity to teach magical children from young onwards, so that they would have time and safety a plenty to master all the magic that they needed to survive and thrive before the cruel world took them.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

"I was done with violence at that point, blood sickened me. When they created Hogwarts, I asked to be retired, and given a peaceful task. They granted me the ability to shift between a hat and a sword. I've been sorting students ever since," the hat finished, leaving Harry stunned by the tale he'd just heard.

"Will you teach me how to wield you?" Harry eventually asked in the resulting silence. The question was a question and all that that implied.

"Yes," the hat replied.

-/-

"Well, you'll have two weeks off when you get back, then you're going to be joining me for a quick refresher, a quick strategy meeting. Then we're off to Vienna. Congratulations, Harry, you're officially registered for this year's U17 duelling tournament."

"Thanks for organising it, Filius," Harry said gratefully. The man had gone through all the bother of signing him up and organising accommodation for the one-week spectacle.

"You focus on your training, I'm past my prime, I can do some light organisation work. It only took me five owls to get everything done," the man said cheerfully, leaning against the podium from which he usually lectured. Harry had come to say goodbye to his mentor specifically before the train left.

"When will the listings become public?" Harry asked. He'd need to pay attention to when it would become public so that he could coordinate with Skeeter. She'd likely want the story to be as high impact as possible and he, well, he wanted something in return. A thirteen-year-old daring to sign up for a competition in which 15 was usually the lowest age was juicy enough to ask for something big.

"A day or two before the start. The experience is that anything longer than that and the excitement has time to die down."

The second-year nodded absentmindedly. "Good, good. I just wanted to check in before leaving. One last question. Is there any chance of me winning?" he asked.

Filius hesitated and awkwardly twirled his moustache. "Harry, I have to say. You're incredible. If I'd had your work ethic when I was your age I'd have won the championship a decade earlier. You're academically gifted, as your spell-creation project from last year shows, but you also have the perseverance to just cast a spell several thousand times when it's necessary to elevate it to the next level. You have the instincts, the drive, the talent…" he trailed off.

"I'm not afraid of losing," Harry said. The werewolf and Twix had put losing into perspective. Had he failed to upkeep his part of the battle in either one of those scenarios he would be dead or turned by now. Losing in a duelling competition seemed insignificant in comparison. Especially since he had four more tries in him. "If I learn anything I wouldn't even particularly mind."

Filius looked at him searchingly before nodding. "Good. Quite frankly, you could win in case of a miracle. If you had the same amount of training as everyone else and were 17 I'd bet my life-savings on you. But you're fighting more than just an uphill battle here, you're fighting an uphill war."

"Everyone's going to have more training, more experience and probably more support," Harry stated.

"Yes, it's a family tradition often enough. It took me longer than it should have to win my first championship because I didn't have such tricks to rely on. Tricks that generations of my ancestors had developed at that point."

"Well, the situation isn't entirely similar," Harry said. "I do have you, and the entirety of Hogwarts at my back."

Filius considered before nodding seriously. "An impressive legacy to back your claim. I have no doubt that if you keep at it the way that you have you'll win the tournament eventually."

"Just not this year, and probably not the next," Harry said.

"Yes."

"Thanks, Filius, I'll see you soon," Harry said, not having anything more to say.

"Have a nice summer, Harry. I'm looking forward to our preparation week," the professor said, and the two of them parted with a firm handshake.

-/-

Harry awkwardly ambled his way on the train, cutting it close with the leaving. Usually, he went on with his friends, not caring that he was part of a larger mob of students all rushing in. But now he was doing something a tad more complicated, for which he needed all his concentration, and for people to not bump into him.

He was pulling his trunk, which he would normally levitate. The reason why he wasn't was because he was currently levitating two more trunks. Just that they were invisible, and above his head, so nobody could bump into them. It was a laborious exertion of his telekinesis, and his face was probably red. He never could have done anything like this had he not developed his magical sense. Other students gave him weird looks as he passed by, making his way to the last compartment. But none of them bothered him. Finally, he reached the last part of the train, where he found an empty compartment to drag his shit into.

"Really looking forward to selling all this crap," he cursed as he threw himself onto the seat. The question of how exactly he would do that was still in the air. Some of the stuff he'd dragged out of the room of requirement was sus as fuck. The only reason he was considering Knockturn Alley was because the hat that he was once again bringing with him was apparently a bona-fide badass. Godric Gryffindor's Mind Arts capabilities distilled into one artefact was likely something that could keep most people away. Also, killing a werewolf as infamous as Greyback was a huge confidence boost.

Of course, only one of his trunks was filled with stuff from the Room of Requirement. The other one was filled with reading material. Harry had brought a lot of paper into Hogwarts this year, and he'd also scavenged the room for any loose parchment, all for one reason. Reading material. He didn't have access to the library while he was on summer vacation, so he'd used the copy spell sent to him by Slughorn all those months ago to take with him as many books as he could. He would be gone for two months, and considering the pace at which he read, it likely still wouldn't be enough.

The amount of notes and topics he was accumulating was getting a bit ridiculous. He could hardly keep track of it all, and the software application OneNote was still a few years from being developed.

His compartment door suddenly opened, ripping Harry from his thoughts and he looked up to see a confident Tonks stride into his space. She walked better now, after the werewolf. As if there was less weight on her shoulders and as if she was confident in her skills.

Her eyes still looked haunted, however. Less so every day, thankfully.

"Wotcher, Harry," she greeted as she sat down opposite him. He met her eyes, green like his. She'd adapted to wearing his eye colour recently. It fit considering he thought himself closer to her than ever.

"Hey," the boy greeted back. "You look good," he complimented, and she did. Not bothering with muggle clothes Tonks was already wearing shorts, a black top that hung loosely off her shoulders, and of course, Doc Martens.

"Thanks," she said, before giving him a cryptic look over. "You look…" she paused. "Manly," she eventually settled.

Harry sputtered, before laughing. "Manly?" he asked, before pointing at himself. "Girl you've seen me without a shirt. I'm about as manly as you," he said.

Tonks tapped her chin with her finger. Black nail polish, of course. "You know, I think it's the adjective that fits you most. I've always been at a loss for words on how to describe you. But I think manly is it. Not physically, but. Attitude. You're confident, hard-working, you have ambition, social skills, and you get respect. You're just stuck in the body of a child, for some reason."

Harry tilted his head. "That's interesting, those are the words I'd use to describe you. You walk differently now, more confidently. And the amount you work finally matches your ambition."

Tonks nodded, before leaning in conspiratorially. Harry did the same and offered an ear. "You're not the only one who's noticed," she whispered. "You won't believe the amount of dates I've been asked on since we killed that bastard," she said.

"That's a bit insensitive, considering…" Harry muttered.

"Charlie, yeah," Tonks muttered and leaned back. She crossed her arms and looked out of the window as the train started chugging along.

"It's the confidence, I'd say," Harry started switching the topic back. "Most people are directionless and insecure. They love latching on to those that exude an aura of 'I know where I'm going'."

"Is that what you used to think of me?" Tonks asked, with curiosity, not hurt.

Harry didn't feel like lying. "Not entirely, but somewhat. I always knew you had potential. You just needed to cut off-"

"The debris of the irrelevant," Tonks interrupted him while rolling her eyes.

"I know. Who needs friends, relationships and hobbies that don't directly bring one close to one's goals."

The second-year rolled his eyes right back. "I have all of that. People just confuse their priorities. Having friends and hobbies isn't the point of life. It's what you relax with when you're tired from following your actual purpose," he finished and noted that through all of his talking Tonks had just been staring at him, tenderly, with her chin on her fist and her elbow on her knee. "What?" he asked defensively.

The girl shook her head. "Nothing. I just really admire you, you know."

"Thanks," Harry whispered, not remembering when the last time had been that he'd gotten so much emotional positive reinforcement from anyone in his surroundings who wasn't family. Sure he was a hard worker, a good friend. But people didn't often compliment him for just who he was. "I've grown to respect you as well," he said back. "I like this more honest version of yourself. The fearless version."

"Thanks, Harry. That means a lot to me," she said softly, and they just held each other's gaze for a few seconds. Then she suddenly switched topics. "Anyway, we should hang out sometime this summer, I won't have much free time but something should be possible."

"You can apparate now, can't you?" Harry asked curiously. Tonks shook her head.

"There was a class, but I decided to learn it privately in the summer. I had more time for studying that way."

Harry nodded and quickly scribbled something on a piece of paper before

throwing it at her. "Well, here's my landline. If you don't have a phone you can reach me by owl too," he said.

"Thanks, I'll be in touch," Tonks said and put away the paper.

They didn't have much to say after that and descended into a comfortable silence for the rest of the ride, both of them reliving and rehashing some of the memories of the year through partially melancholic, and partially nostalgic lenses.