Chapter 2

Disguising himself, Harry learned was going to be harder than he'd ever thought. For one thing dying his hair wouldn't work because those spells and potions were never permanent.

So the hair had to stay, but there were ways to change it, just not the color. Straightening spells however hadn't worked well; he'd wound up with slightly wavy instead. A hair growth potion, rubbed into his scalp while showering and second one drunk with breakfast gave him shoulder-length hair by noon.

The Room of requirement didn't have many books on disguise, but a little research provided a lot of useful spells and potions – they'd just never been put into the same book. The search also turned up an ancient potion to correct nearsightedness.

The dark blue potion bubbled in the cauldron, it appeared exactly right, bubbly, as thin as water on top, murky and thick at the bottom of the cauldron, and it stank horribly.

"It says I need three drop per eye, three times a day, for three days." Harry hissed, more to himself than to Sygra, but she answered anyway.

"Whoever made up that potion was very fond of the number three, couldn't you increase the dosage each time and take it for two days instead?" She hissed. Harry looked through the potions book to find out if that were possible, personally he didn't like giving his eyes any dosage of flesh eating beetle stomach acid, even if it was in a potion.

"No, it's the beetles, too much makes you go blind."

"Ah, that would be bad."

"Indeed." Harry stirred the cauldron four times clockwise, the books said two times was enough but his first batch hadn't been too great, his second attempt he'd used three stirs and it had been better, so why not try four?

Why not was because the potion began to bubble over, violent waves of blue foam. Harry tossed in flobberworm brain juices and it calmed. But the potion was ruined, three stirs it was then. Harry made a mental note of that and tossed the ruined batch, taking his earlier attempt instead.

The book said that the potion had to be put in one drop at a time, each drop followed by a spell to the eye. Harry removed his glasses, picked up one of the smaller stirring rods and dipped it into the potion, one drop hung precariously to the end when he removed it. The Harry carefully held one eye open and tilted his head back.

Burning pain flashed through his eye, making Harry drop the stirring rod with a gasp. His fingers dug into the chair so hard his knuckles turned white. His fingers began to hurt from the pressure but Harry could only feel the excruciating pain in his eye, the book hadn't mentioned this!

"The spell, master, the spell!" Sygra hissed, wrapping a coil around his wand and lifting it to his hand. Harry raised it quickly and pointed it at his eye while forcing the eye open with his other hand.

"Sano!" He had practiced the spell and it worked fine now despite his lack of concentration, a tiny red bolt of lightning leaped into his open eye. Harry screamed in pain.

"Master?" The pain was receding, slowly, finally it faded. Harry found tears running down his face he raised a hand "don't rub it!" Sygra reminded him, Harry paused and took a few deep breaths.

"Thank you Sygra". He hissed finally, resting his head against the back of the chair. "I have to do that twenty-seven more times to that eye…and twenty-eight times to the other." It wasn't a pleasant prospect, but he couldn't stop now. Harry picked up the stirrer and dipped it into the potion again. Five more to go for this round, three to each eye with every meal. It was only for three days, and he would never need glasses again.

With his hair longer and no longer nearly so messy, but neat and wavy, and his eyes cured Harry looked at his face in the mirror, he looked different without the glasses. But was it enough? No, there was still that scar. He had used the room to spend a few days in the sun and the tan had also altered him a little, but the scar still showed clearly on his forehead, proclaiming who he was to everyone.

There was a potion Harry was using to do something about the scar. He had discarded the idea of spells because if he entered a non- magical area, or a duel, or somehow the spell broke or he wasn't able to put the spells on again then it would show. But there was a potion, designed to create a substance that looked like human skin, thinner than the thinnest paper. Each piece would last for ten to twelve days before he'd have to remove it and put a new one on. And you couldn't feel it if you touched it, disguise detection spells wouldn't notice it.

Once it finished simmering he would skim off the thin layer of fake skin on top of the potion, layer after layer could be removed until the cauldron was empty.

Harry had never thought to disguise the scar before, but just because something isn't removable doesn't mean it can't be hidden. It was almost scary, to think that soon he would look in the mirror and he wouldn't be Harry Potter anymore. Well he would be, but he'd be different. The thought that next time he walked into a room full of strangers no one would be able to guess who he was was thrilling. Something other people seemed to take for granted, anonymity, just another sixteen year old. Not different. No one would stare. Harry glanced at the simmering cauldron, feeling giddy and over excited. The potion took four months; he had started on it two months previous. One batch would yield enough of the fake skin for a year, depending on how banged up his head got of course. And the Akren Mountain School of Magic didn't interfere in their students health unless the student really, really, needed help. Indeed, several of their students had died over the years. If he got knocked out no one would be prodding his head looking for something, except his friends, maybe.

That was another thing he was looking forward to, making friends without having the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing already there between them from the beginning. The freedom in being able to get away from everyone who knew and to do anything was even more exciting then the prospect of learning mind, blood and soul magic.

Harry had done a charm earlier that day to find out what height he could expect to reach eventually, only to find that he, at five foot eight, had already hit it. Harry had always wanted to be tall; it came from being so much shorter than his abusive uncle. And if he was going for something that would be even more useful in throwing people off of who he really was, height would do it. Neither of his parents was more than five foot ten. For this he had turned to a growth potion. It was very dangerous to take because if the dose was a few drops too much it would snap his joints and possibly damage his spine. Harry had been very careful to take a slightly smaller dose than he needed. Because it was such a strain on the body he had had to wait until his eye-treatments were finished, and he would be taking one dose of the growth potion every day for a week.

He could already feel a dull ache spreading throughout his body. Attempting to ignore it Harry sat down and open a book on occlumency that he had been working on for several days. He was determined to master the art

The dummy, brought to life courtesy of the Room of Requirement, hurled a knife, Harry caught it and threw it back, smiled at the satisfying THWACK of the metal sliding into the wooden dummy neck. Knife throwing was not easy, catching even harder; he had the scars on his palms to prove it.

Putting aside the knife Harry began some hand-to-hand sparring. When he wanted to he could have the dummy show him how to do blocks, kicks, or punches. And while it wasn't as good as having a human teacher, when combined with a book on martial arts it was good enough. Harry's preferred attack style was to hit his opponent, damage them as badly as possible, and get away quickly. He liked speed, never quite being where the dummy expected. Though another disadvantage was that the dummy didn't operate like a human mind, the Room knew exactly where Harry was all the time. Harry realized that having a dummy that always knew when he was, how good or bad his footing was (based upon where the room felt the pressure on the floor), and that moved quite unlike anything human could put him in a bad spot when he did finally wind up with a human opponent. But it was the best he could do right then. So instead he concentrated on learning all the tricks he could. Punches were all well and good, but if you could remove the other person's eye that was even better, so Harry practiced going for the face, and the throat. A good blow to the neck with the edge of his hand or a sharp jab with the tips of the fingers was worth several punches to the gut. Choking and gagging because of hit to the neck was enough to upset and unbalance anyone.

He had been living and studying in the Room of Requirement for nearly six months. The growth potion had worked out marvelously and Harry was very satisfied with his new height of a few inches over six feet. Harry had taken to his new appearance like a fish to water, his only worry now was that someone would recognize his eyes, for this Harry employed an easy to make fairly common potion that would turn his eyes more blue than green, getting rid of the distinctive Killing Curse color they usually were. The potion would have to be renewed every week or so. Harry had timed it to match with the renewal of the fake skin

Harry's silent spell casting was going very well, it had taken a long time to learn all the interesting spells he had found, but with the help of the memory potions it had gone fast. He could now do most of the spells he knew silently, though his precision needed work. His knife fighting was coming along well as was the martial arts he had started. He would never be anything truly remarkable with either for a long time, but had the basics down. With his additional growth had come additional muscle mass, which only helped.

Harry had debated for a long time over whether or not he should attempt some of the enchantments that would give him faster reflexes, better night vision, greater stamina, speed. The potion and spell combinations were a form of blood magic, and as such considered by most to be a dark art. Though there was nothing really dark about it besides the blood, since it was the blood of the user rather than a victim. Harry had been more worried about making a mistake, make a mistake with blood magic and the results are horrific.

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Hogwarts to Reopen Late

It was announced by the new Hogwarts headmistress Minerva McGonagal that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will reopen on September the third this year, instead of the first as it has in previous years. With the loss of its long-time Headmaster Albus Dumbledore the school...

Harry put the Prophet article aside and glanced around warily. Diagon Alley was filled with people buying school supplies, but no one had recognized him yet. Walking with a smooth unhurried stride he crossed the street to Knockturn Alley. It had rained recently and the Alley was wet, smelly, and filthy/ Harry was glad he'd worn the high black boots, he didn't want to know what some of the stuff on the ground was. His height and dark green hooded cloak made the Alley's usual residents move aside for him.

Harry tried several shops, none of them advertising what they were really selling, before he found a weapons place. Inside weapons of all sorts lined the walls and shelves. It was very well lit, for a Knockturn business, and very large. The owner had clearly been collecting for some time. On a shelf in the back Harry found what he was looking for, knives of the sort needed for blood magic.

Picking through the blades Harry found one that matched his needs. He also selected a few others that might be needed for other rituals. The elderly man at the counter gave him a solid glare, apparently not bothered in the least by intimidating strangers. Harry figured that was because if he collected such weapons, he probably also knew how to use them.

When he returned to Diagon Alley Harry turned and headed for Gringotts. As he waited for a man with a wheelbarrow full of what looked like blue oversized maggot to pass Harry saw, on the other side of the street, three sets of red hair. Harry paused, watching as Ron, Ginny, and their mother, loaded down with school supplies, wandered into the apothecary. They looked anxious and sad, and Ron and Ginny kept looking everywhere, as though searching for someone. Harry continued down the street and did not look back.

Withdrawing a fairly large amount of money from his vault Harry walked back to the apparition place, checking to make sure he had all of his purchases. This included a large box containing potions ingredients. He could use the ingredients the Room provided, but then the effects would vanish as soon as he left the Room. He had used all of his left over ingredients from NEWT potions on what he had made so far. And Harry, who was really getting interested in all the possibilities in potion making, felt that he would need a lot more.

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The Room of Requirement came through once again, providing the very best reflexive speed increasing blood magic ever developed.

Harry examined the pictures in the book, and then looked around, The Room of Requirement had been transformed into a stone room. Harry had spent days placing the correct symbols on the floor, drawn in his own blood. Now he put the book aside and, naked, knelt in the center and began to meditate, he'd drunk the potion earlier and bathed in the second potion. It made skin burn as if he was on fire, but there was no apparent physical damage.

The one time he had left Hogwarts had been to purchase the knife he now held from a shop in Knockturn Alley. It was rare so-called "red" silver, washed in dragon and Baku blood. The Baku were creatures from Japan, the face of a lion, the body of a horse, the feet of a tiger, and the tail of a cow. The knife had a reddish tint to its pale silver blade. Harry's body was marked in ink with runes, the ones he would soon have to cut into his skin

Harry bent his head and began to cry onto the knife, tears were required, why he had no idea, but he wasn't about the deviate from the book. His breathing, aided by a calming charm, settled out and soon his mind was empty and drifting. Breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth Harry paused for several minutes, and then began to concentrate on the purpose of the runes and blood magic.

Then he began to cut. It hurt, but he had to ignore it. Blood slowly welled and began to drip down his arm from the first cuts. The knife could never leave his skin, and it began to grow colder and colder as Harry, breathing calmly. It required wandless levitation, that he had been practicing for weeks, to cut the runes on his back, but he did it. The blade hummed and went icy cold from the magic and the runes on his skin and on the floor began to glow, though Harry had his eyes closed and didn't see it.

It took seven hours, not because of the amount of runes but because if he made the slightest mistake the magic would self-destruct, killing him. When the knife finally returned to his hand Harry slowly opened his eyes.

His body was smearing with blood and he was sure if anyone saw him right now they'd assume he was dead. His skin tingled in an almost-painful way, the glow was still fading from the runes as Harry, shaking, tried to stand.

He collapsed to floor again almost immediately at the screaming pain in his stiff legs and knees. He settled down to wait; slowly flexing his legs and feeling the blood begin to flow again.

When he washed the blood off he found that the runes were drawn delicately into his skin in gold. The runes then faded over the next few days until he couldn't see them anymore, unless he concentrated on the feeling of power that he had felt rushing through him during the ritual, then they glowed brightly.

XXX

A few more months passed in the Room, less than a day had passed outside. The only time he had left was to go to Diagon Alley, and one trip into the forest for a few plants. The outside world had experienced less than twenty-four hours; he had lived for nine months. Harry wondered if it would affect his aging process, he didn't think it would, but it was only nine months. Since the first blood magic he had done had worked well Harry had gone through two more sets. The combined effects of those two had increased his stamina and strength, without adding on too much more muscle. Potions had given him far above average night vision and his regular learning was more than satisfactory.

Though his current Occlumency was about midway between novice and master Harry was almost satisfied with it. There weren't too many people who had mastered it and he didn't think he'd find too many fellow students who knew it. The key was a calm organized mind, that was also very aware of its surroundings and could notice someone trying to peer into his thoughts. What Harry really needed though, was someone to practice against, and the Room of Requirement could not provide that. Perhaps at Akren he would meet some people who could help.

One of the things Harry had done was to build himself a new magical trunk. He had opted for one like Alastor Moody's, with six different compartments all in the same trunk, depending upon which lock was unlocked. The locks were keyed to his fingerprint and magical signature. Harry wasn't entirely sure how that worked, but the spells hadn't been too difficult and he was fairly sure they had worked.

One if the compartments Harry had filled entirely with potions, several hundred of them. He had also resolved to carry a portkey (keyed to the Potter's house in Godric's Hollow), the invisibility cloak, his broom, and several potions with him at all times. The major problem was finding a way to carry them so that no one could find them even if they did a strip search. Harry had finally come up with the idea of an earring. A tiny chip of obsidian, so small that it couldn't get caught on anything and no one would ever think to remove it.

Harry leaned over the sink, carefully washing the blood off his ear. Thankfully there wasn't a lot of it. The tiny piece of obsidian glinted in his sore ear. He had placed it on the top of his ear rather than the lobe, and it was colored like skin, designed to look like a dark freckle or small wart. If touched by his blood, and then pressed just right, once to the piece in back, once to the obsidian chip, once to both, a section of the obsidian would break off, fall to the floor, and enlarge itself to the actual size. It was a small trunk, long enough for his broom, but very thin. Just large enough for the potions, knife, gun, portkey, bandages, and cloak to fit.

Harry had dropped by Diagon Alley once more and bought a Nimbus 2000, this was the broom he would take to Akren with him. The Firebolt was too flashy; it would stay in the earring trunk.

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Harry figured he'd been living in the Room of requirement for nearly a year. He had studied hard, and was well up to NEWT test level in all of his subjects. He had also worked on Runes and thread magic, just so he would have a head start. He had mastered offensive and defensive fighting spells, including several kinds that really were borderline dark arts and could inflict severe damage.

He had studied vampires and werewolves, since he could assume that there would be both at Akren.

Because the school engaged in muggle sports and sciences he had studied those too. How the Room of Requirement came to have Algebra and Biology text books Harry didn't know, but he was glad it did.

Because the books about the school had warned that wilderness survival was part of the curriculum Harry had worked on that too. The art of tracking had particularly interested him.

He was ready to start school, the Akren school year started in the fall, though most students stayed all year round. Incoming students of all ages (so long as you were below twenty you were welcome) arrived on September fifth.

Now all he had to do was find Akren Mountain School of Magic.