Harry Potter: outlier

The sun hung low over the meadow behind the Potter cottage, casting long shadows across the grass. The air was thick with warmth, the buzz of insects, and the faint crackle of lingering magic. Harry had asked his dad to teach him how to fight like a real auror.

"Again," James said, his wand already raised.

Harry stood across from him, panting slightly, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. He adjusted his grip on his wand, narrowed his eyes, and nodded.

James stepped lightly to the side, his silhouette backlit by the sun. "You're faster. But you're still thinking too much. Magic during a duel should be an instinct. You won't be able to think a bout an elaborate strategy when you are bombarded with spells left and right."

"Easy for you to say," Harry muttered, rolling his shoulder. "You have done this for years now."

James barked a laugh. "I grew up with a broom in one hand and detentions in the other. You? You've survived Voldemort, dementors, dragons..."

Harry raised a brow.

James grinned. "Alright, maybe you're a bit ahead of where I was."

Then he moved.

A quick Disarming Charm, a flick, sharp and clean. Harry barely countered. Their spells collided mid air with a brief flash of light.

"Good," James said, while circling. "Now don't let me pin you."

Harry didn't. Not at first. They dueled in a tight rhythm. Curse, counter-curse, shield, duck, roll, retaliate all mixed and interchangable. The air rang with shouted incantations and sizzling bolts of color. James was faster, more experienced, but Harry was getting there. He was a quick learner, faster than anyone James had seen until now.

Eventually, he called a halt, both of them standing amidst scorched patches of grass, panting, grinning.

Harry dropped onto his back and let the earth soak into his shirt.

James joined him after a moment, lying flat beside his son, staring up at the drifting clouds.

"Y'know," he said between breaths, "I used to think being a father would be easy. Teach you how to fly, how to prank Filch, pass you my favorite cloak, and we'd call it a day."

Harry snorted. "You skipped the part where I die almost every year."

They both looked at each other, before bursting out laughting. A comfortable silence settled in afterwards.

They stayed like that for a while, staring at the sky.

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of grass and something vaguely sweet, honeysuckle from the edge of the orchard.

"I'm proud of you," James said quietly. "For not giving up. For still being you despite everything."

Harry swallowed hard.

"Now let's get you something to eat." James got up and cleaned both their clothes with a quick spell. "Afterwards we will continue with potions."

After a quick meal and a gulp of cold pumpkin juice, James led Harry into the cellar beneath the cottage. The stone walls were cool and lined with shelves stacked with vials, herbs, bottled essence, and cauldrons of every size. A heavy wooden table stood in the middle, its surface stained with decades of use.

The air smelled of dried lavender, iron, and weirdly of butter.

James rolled up his sleeves and gestured to the collection laid out before them.

"Alright," he said, tapping a small crate with his wand. Its lid popped open, revealing glass vials wrapped in thick padding. Some glowed softly. Others shimmered. One hissed.

"Combat potions," James said with a grin. "A Potter specialty. Most people think of potions as something you brew for hours and drink to heal. We've always been… more creative."

Harry raised a brow. "You mean like throwing them at people?"

James winked. "Exactly."

He plucked a vial filled with deep red liquid and handed it to Harry. "This is Emberglass. A burst potion. Shatters on impact, ignites anything flammable. Not as flashy as Fiendfyre, but much safer. And it won't turn on you."

Harry turned the vial in his hand, watching it shimmer like molten rubies. "And this one?"

He picked up another. It was pale blue, with something like frost crawling along the glass.

"Frostsnare," James said. "Instant freeze. You hit the ground with it, it spreads in a ten-foot radius and locks feet in place. Good for buying time or locking down targets."

They went on like that through dozens of ready potions.

There were smoke bombs that also erased scent trails. Salves that hardened skin into a kind of magical armor for thirty seconds. Oils that, when rubbed onto gloves, let you mold wood like it was a modelling compound. Drinkables that heightened reflexes or erased your traces for exactly five minutes.

Finally, James set down a sealed, mirrored flask. Inside it, the liquid seemed to move on its own.

"And this," he said, serious now, "is Slipshade. Our family's magnus opum. We don't use this lightly. It lets you phase, just once, through any spell. Costs like mad to make and if you overuse it, it'll leave you unconscious for days. Never use it again afterwards if that happens to you."

Harry stared at the swirling silver inside. "What happens if you do?"

"You phase out." James replied seriously. "And won't come back."

Harry gulped. "And you brewed this?"

James nodded. "My mum taught me. Her mum taught her. It's in the blood. You will come to know more clearly once you turn 17 and the family magic unlocks." He gave a faint smile. "We weren't always duelists, you know. Back during the Goblin Rebellions, we were supporters with a knack for the volatile. It started with incorporating the failed products and ended where we are today, with actual combat potions."

"Figured you'd be flashier."

"We learned early on that flash gets you killed. Surprise and timing? That wins wars."

Harry nodded, then paused. "So… what's the plan?"

James's smile sharpened. "We test you. Right now."

He flicked his wand and the cellar reconfigured itself, the shelves slid away and the table flattened into the floor. A shifting stone wall rose in the back and a few dummies sprang from hidden compartments. Each bore marks for targeting and slots where vials could be thrown to trigger effects.

James tossed Harry a leather belt lined with reinforced potion slots. "Load up."

Harry did, two Frostsnares, one Emberglass, a salve, and a smoke vial. He slipped on a pair of hardened gloves with a nod.

"Your goal," James said, stepping back and raising a shield between them, "is to take out the central target dummy. It'll move and defend itself. You'll need to use wandwork and potions. Don't try to safe them."

The dummy whirred to life, conjuring a shield as it dashed between stone obstacles.

And so Harry's training began. In the morning classical duelling and in the afternoon the Potter's style. After that, a bit calmer, potion making to replenish the stock.

----

The sky had turned a deep orange when Sirius finally wandered into the Potter cottage's back porch, carrying a bottle of Firewhisky and two glasses.

James looked up from the old broom he was polishing, raised an eyebrow. "Drinking already?"

"Mate, it's nearly evening," Sirius said, dropping into the chair beside him. "Besides, I just watched your son stick a Frostsnare under a moving target's arse while levitating on his back an inch over the ground. I need a drink."

James chuckled, accepting the glass. "Not bad, right?"

"Not bad?" Sirius scoffed, pouring. "James, he baited the dummy into using a shield charm, then bounced an Emberglass off the wall, which still had his bouncing charm that he had used earlier to dodge, to hit it from behind. That was bloody murder."

"He's quick," James said, staring out at the scorched circle in the grass where they had duelled earlier. "Faster than I expected. Smarter too. He has started predicting spell chains I haven't even cast yet."

Sirius swirled his drink, watching the burnished sky. "Yeah. It's the kind of smart you only get when you've survived too many things you shouldn't have."

The silence lingered a little too long.

James broke it with a sigh. "You think I'm pushing him too hard?"

Sirius snorted. "Mate, he wouldn't be improving this fast if he didn't need it. Honestly, I wish someone had taught us this when we were fifteen."

Then became serious, "I truly think this is what he needed, after what happened. The first time I looked at him after that he looked... lost, if that makes sense. Like he didn't know what to do and was stuck in his head."

James gave him a look, then back to the scorched patch. "I just hope I'm doing enough."

Sirius let the words hang for a moment before clinking his glass gently against James's.

"You are, mate," he said firmly. "You're doing more than enough. You're here. Teaching him. Listening to him. Giving him something solid to stand on. That's more than most kids ever get."

James didn't answer right away. He rubbed his thumb along the rim of the glass, brows furrowed. "Sometimes I wonder if it would be better to just keep him here, away from danger."

Sirius exhaled slowly, leaning back in his chair, eyes half-lidded against the last rays of sun. "Yeah, well. You could do that. Lock him in a tower, feed him pancakes, teach him the history of wand woods."

James snorted faintly.

"But that's not who he is," Sirius continued, voice low but steady. "You know that. He's your kid, Prongs. And you didn't run from danger either."

James huffed a laugh. "You were the one who got us into most of the trouble."

Sirius raised his hands in mock offense. "Excuse me! I merely enabled opportunities. You were the one who took them."

"Oh please," James said, finally grinning. "You're the reason we weren't allowed back in the Arithmancy wing for an entire semester. What was it? Something about a dancing golem made of chalk dust?"

"I was proving a theory!" Sirius said, puffing his chest. "McGonagall said magic and rhythm were linked, and I..."

"Also, you nearly gave Flitwick a heart attack!"

"It was worth it. The little guy did a full split before diving behind his podium."

They both cracked up at that.

After a moment, Sirius lifted his glass in a lazy toast. "To Harry. Smarter than both of us, and with slightly better impulse control."

James clinked his glass. "Only slightly. I caught him trying to modify a Featherlight Charm last week to reduce fall damage in duels."

Sirius blinked. "Did it work?"

James sighed fondly. "Yeah. Too well. The dummy floated halfway to the ceiling and stayed there."

Sirius cackled. "That's my godson!"

James leaned back, a smirk tugging at his mouth. "He's not going to follow orders."

Sirius smiled into his glass. "Just like his parents."

James tilted his head. "Let's hope he skips our talent for mayhem."

"Oh no, I'm counting on it," Sirius said. "I fully expect him to do twice the damage we ever managed, but with a plan this time."

They laughed again, more freely now, while the sky deepened to violet and the wind carried a distant *boom*, probably another potion test gone slightly sideways.

Sirius tipped his chair back with a contented sigh. "You ever think we'd live long enough to be the responsible adults?"

James shook his head. "Nope."

They sat in companionable silence for a while longer.

Then Sirius said, "He's gonna be okay, you know."

James didn't look at him. "I know."

But he gripped his glass a little tighter.

After all at the end of the day, he was a parent.

----

AN: I originally wanted to incorporate this potion heavy fighting style during the Nott manor incident, but forgot while writing it.