The true brilliance of that fact as it pertained to Harry was that it made getting into an Ivy League college that much easier for him. While, his SAT scores were extremely good his high school grades weren't as good as they could have been. His transcripts for the last few years were decent enough but they weren't quite good enough for him to get into an Ivy League school. This was mostly due to the four-year gap in his non-magical education rather than any lack of brains or talent upon his part.
He could have easily gotten into a decent state school or a second rung University but why should he settle for second best when there was a chance to get the very best education that the States had to offer.
All he had to do was get a decent enough score in his MSAT, where the M stood for Magic of course, and he could have his pick of almost any university in America. The admissions department of the magical sections of the American universities were famous for ignoring the student's non-magical grades. An MSAT score was everything.
He didn't even have to major in a magical subject. No, a minor would be good enough. This meant that if he did well enough in his MSAT he could, in theory, study something like Computer Engineering at MIT or Business at Harvard. As long as he supplemented it with a minor in a something like Enchantment or Transfiguration, he was free to study whatever non-magical subject he liked.
Personally, he was praying that he would score high enough to get into Princeton. Their warding program was the best in the country and a minor in warding would certainly help him keep himself secure. Not to mention that any non-magical degree he received from there would ensure that he would certainly be able to get a high paying job or two after college.
The testing centre was a grim place with beige walls and anti-cheating charms upon all the desks. Stone-faced proctors were busy distributing the Question papers to hundreds of students. Harry checked his supplies. He hoped a dozen number 2 pencils would be enough. The first section of the test would take five hours and would consist of multiple-choice and essay questions. He would have to come back the next day for the practical portions of the tests.
He had to restrain himself from ripping the question paper open as soon as he got it. He had to wait for the proctors to notify them when they could begin. He forced himself to keep calm, utilising some of the occlumency techniques he had picked up at camp. Soon enough the bell rang and the proctors signalled that they could begin. He opened the question paper and read the first question.
1) The ? charm can be used to repel Dementors.
a) Rationalus
b) Protectus
c) Patronus
d) Protego
e) Demonos Repellus
He grinned and tapped his charmed No 2 pencil upon the little oval marked with a 'c' in his answer sheet. It instantly filled with black to mark his answer and he turned to the next question. He hoped they would all be as easy as the first one.
...
Five hours later an exhausted Harry finally put down his pencil and rubbed his aching wrist. The MSAT had proven to be remarkably difficult but he thought he had done well enough. All around him, the other students were beginning to gather their supplies and leave. Some of them were discussing their answers with each other. Harry did not see the point in that. Either he had done well enough or he hadn't. What was the point in discussing it? He might as well just wait for the results. He finished putting away his pencils erasers and other paraphernalia and stood up to find himself facing a petite blonde girl. She was staring at him with an intent look that was somehow rather disconcerting.
"Why do you look like someone I think I should know?" she asked him, rather bluntly.
"Err," said Harry, feeling rather flummoxed.
"I don't remember ever meeting you before and yet there is something about you that makes me feel like I should know who you are. Why is that?" she said, staring at him all the while.
"I don't know. Have we met before? Maybe, at Summer Camp? My names Jim, Jim Dobbins," said Harry.
"No, I don't think so. I would have remembered meeting you before, I think." She paused and tilted her head to the side, studying him intently. "It's funny, you don't look like a Jim," she said.
"Uhhh, unfortunately that is my name," said Harry.
"Are you sure? Jim wouldn't be short for James would it? Somehow, I think James would fit you much better. It's still not quite right, but it fits you better than Jim," she explained before abruptly turning and walking away, leaving a startled Harry staring after her.
"Bloody Hell!" thought Harry. "What the hell was that? Did my Fidelius Charm fail? She knew. She bloody well knew my middle name was James. Is she playing with me? Is she a Death Eater? Are there more Death Eaters waiting outside to ambush me?"
He was starting to panic and staring around for the nearest exit. He would have to run. Run immediately. The Death Eaters had finally tracked him down.
He was halfway to the exit when he forced himself to slow down. "Calm down," he told himself. "What would Dr. Rivers say? You're letting your paranoia get in the way of living your life, she'd say. No, she wouldn't be happy."
Dr. Rivers was Harry's therapist who he had been seeing for a little over six months. The previous summer he had suffered from nightmares a couple of times while he was at camp. The camp counsellor had noticed and suggested he see a therapist to help him deal with his problems and Harry, after much resistance and denial, had finally gotten around to finding a muggle therapist.
He had changed the story somewhat. He had told her he was having nightmares about the death of a former classmate. Cedric, a competitor in a cross-country race organised by his previous school, had been murdered, murdered by two drug dealers who he had been unfortunate enough to stumble across during the race. They had been in the middle of a drug deal and had not been happy about having a witness. Harry had seen the whole thing and had barely escaped himself. He had made up a story about how he was in the Witness Protection Program and how he was sure that the drug dealers were still out to get him in order to stop him from testifying.
She had promptly diagnosed him to be suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and had been treating him for the same for the last six months. She was also helping him to deal with his feelings of paranoia, his incessant need to always have an escape route planned out and his inability to be comfortable sitting with his back to a door.
She would not be very happy to learn that Harry had panicked after a single conversation with a young teenage girl.
"Okay," thought Harry. "First things first, I need to check if the Fidelius is still active. How do I do that? Oh, yes."
...
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