Chapter One: Journey
Ritual Magic can be very dangerous as it has numerous side effects unforseen by the mages attempting to do the ritual. A ritual typically consists of a sacrifice to a magical artefact or to a creature of great power, human or demon. Without rituals, the most powerful magical artefacts would not be created, so it is a necessary evil that must be tolerated and strictly controlled by the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries. Any witch or wizard attempting a ritual without the supervision of unspeakables will be executed on sight due to the dangers rituals pose to both the conjurer and the people surrounding them.
Harry seemed to be in a good mood as he walked down the ministry halls, his robes flowing in his wake as if carried by an invisible wind. He whistled as he walked, and peered through doors into offices, closets, and storage rooms. He was looking for something. Something important, and very dear to him, but he hoped nobody would find him. "Minister! Minister Potter!" someone shouted behind him. He cursed silently in his mind and whirled around.
"What is it, Colin?" He asked, a tic forming under his left eyebrow as he scowled at the approaching figure. Colin was a short statured and generally annoying man, but a good hearted fellow who liked to chug beers after work. Harry didn't dislike him, but he didn't particularly like Colin either. Especially not now when he was trying to find his firebolt, to ride out home into the night. Now where had he left it exactly...?
"Sir, there's a breach in the security. Death eaters are trying to access the department of mysteries sir!" He said, out of breath. Harry's mind raced with the possibilities. This was the third time in the past month that death eaters had tried to attack the ministry. Hot June carried in its wake more death eater attacks than ever before. Even though he had defeated Voldemort – and became Minister of Magic at age 24 – death eaters still roamed about, a powerful force unwilling to simply give up their cause of pure blood supremacy.
"Okay, lead me to them, Colin," Harry said, his green eyes hard.
Colin gulped. "You don't want me to get the aurors?"
"No, I'll deal with this problem personally today," Harry said as he pulled out his holly and pheonix feather wand. It vibrated with power, as if waiting to be used. Harry couldn't remember the last duel he had had. Perhaps it had been a year ago, when Draco had personally challenged him to a public match for the Malfoy fortunes which he had confiscated. Harry had won that duel, needless to say.
They ran through the halls of the ministry, meeting nobody on the way. That was to be expected. It was one in the morning and most ministry workers had gone home. Harry liked to stay in late, and come to work in the late afternoons. He had an erratic schedule from years of fighting Voldemort in the night and his circadian rhythms had adjusted. This proved useful today, because he had the perfect opportunity to fight the evasive death eaters.
They entered a cavernous chamber, which sent ice cold shivers down Harry's spine. He remembered this room, he remembered the veil clearly. It lay in the middle of the giant hall, like a snake ready to strike. The black cloth fluttered, leading to a shimmering portal that lead to what the unspeakables believed was a sort of limbo between life and death. There were at least ten or fifteen death eaters lined around the veil, performing some sort of weird ritual. They were making odd figures and shapes with their wands, and as if to prove they were competent in what they were doing, a purple ball of light connected their wands together in a circle around the veil.
Harry looked around, he had approached from a side door and he wasn't sure if there were death eaters hidden in the shadows. "Colin, go get the aurors," he whispered. Colin nodded and ran, his face white with fear. Harry crouched, and pointed his wand at one of the death eaters in the circle. Before he could cast a spell, he heard a voice shout, "Avada Kedavra!"
Harry turned to see a green light approach him. He dodged the light, feeling death's close brush. It scared him still, his heart pounding in his chest, but he was a lion and lions were brave, despite whatever fear they felt. The death eaters were not weak by any stretch of the imagination, but Harry wasn't weak either. However, Harry did not want to go into a fight where he was outnumbered.
He started to back away but before he could, he heard a clear crisp voice say, "Avalis Shalium."
The doors locked on themselves, and Harry was trapped in the chamber. There was pin drop silence, before spells shot toward him from all directions – from the shadows, where he could see figures hiding, as if they were waiting for him. They were protecting the ones in the circle.
Harry had a feeling that if he could stop the ritual the death eaters would flee. He could already hear shouts of the aurors on the other side of the door, trying to get in. The doors banged, but did not budge. He wondered how long it would take the aurors to get through, calculating it in his head. Rolling on the floor to dodge multicoloured spells, he acted fast, waving his wand toward one shadowy figure in a corner and shouting, "Avada Kedavra."
It was a direct hit, the death eater could not have dodged. The man in the dark cloak fell with a thump and Harry ran. He felt a stunner hit his right leg, slowing him down, but he did not stop and took the spot of the dead death eater because it was good cover. He aimed his wand toward the death eaters doing whatever fucked up ritual they were attempting to bring back Voldemort and shouted, "Stupefy!" A red bolt of lightning hit one of them, or it would have had not a shield of silver light blocked the stunner.
He tried a killing curse, but part way through the incantation he had to dodge a bright yellow beam of light aimed at his head. His killing curse hit the ceiling, causing a small burn and a hole, but otherwise doing no damage to the death eaters.
His heart hammered in his chest, and sweat beads dropped down his chin. He knew he had to escape, or he would die. He wasn't invincible. He had to make a run for it but where?
Then he had the perfect answer. He could go right near the veil, past the silver shield, and attack the death eaters from inside the protective charm. He saw rune stones on a chalk circle that held the silver shield anchored. It was a powerful archaic work of magic. The death eaters had some sort of scholar on their side apparently. Harry got ready to run, but his leg felt dead stiff because of the stunner. He raised his wand, and searched his memory just as a killing curse shot toward him, aimed at his chest. He dodged, pressed to a pillar on the wall, and ran, staying low and trying to avoid the spells.
A brilliant purple wave of magic hit his back, burning him. He screamed in pain but didn't stop running. He ran past the rune markers and right next to the veil. He felt an opressive heat in his head, as if a creature was trying to worm his way into his mind. It was coming from the veil. He was in the circle. He grinned and aimed his wand at a death eater doing the ritual, but froze.
The death eaters had stopped the ritual. Or rather they were complete.
A wind flew from the portal toward Harry's burnt back, soothing, and cold. He wanted to cast a spell but he felt frozen stiff. No spell had touched him, but the ritual the death eaters had completed had unleashed a vast force of magic from the veil. He turned around to look, feeling his neck as stiff as ice, and just as cold. He gulped, seeing two red eyes from a blackness, an abyss.
The eyes shot forward. Harry was entranced.
Suddenly he felt a spell hit him in the back. It must have been a stunner. He had been hit with stunners hundreds of times and he knew the feel of it. Even though his body felt dead like, his mind still raced, and he comprehended the possibilities of what was going on with a brilliance that had made him the leader of the magical Britain.
He was flung into the air, right toward the red eyes.
And the eyes shot forward, past him, while he kept going deep into the portal, into a blackness worse than death.
Inside the Veil is a world that nobody has explored, that nobody has seen, or at least come back to tell about it. It is theorized that the veil is a portal to the world of death, or to a limbo. Nobody knows what it is exactly, but it is very ancient, old, and has been one of the foundation stones of the ministry of magic. It contains a signature reading of light blue, which to unspeakables means it is very dangerous and not to be tampered with under any conditions. The veil can be volatile and destructive to all those who come close to it, and some have speculated it is a living being and can talk to some wizards near its vicinity. It is strictly quarantined and should not under any circumstances be used in powerful magic rituals requiring artefacts.
Pinpricks flared across the bridge of his nose. He screamed in pain and opened his eyes, immediately wishing he hadn't. There was a blank whiteness all around, infinite and stretching forever. He was floating in this whiteness, as thick as blood, and sinking, deeply into an endless abyss of nothingness. It was the most painful thing he had experienced.
There was a sharp metal touching metal sound, like a bell, ringing in his ears. He looked around for the source, anything to escape this nothingness, this bottomless abyss he had been thrown into, but he could find no solace.
Harry opened his mouth. He closed it. He searched for his wand, but his body was a dead object, like a log floating on the ocean. He was being taken somewhere in the abyss. He could feel motion but he didn't think he was moving. Where would he go to?
He laughed softly, and wondered if he was in hell.
Suddenly, he saw a man. The outline of the man was blurry. But he willed himself closer, and amazingly, the abyss moved him toward the man. He was wearing a brown coat and had sunken dead eyes.
Harry's heart leaped in his throat. Was that Sirius?
No.
The man was dead.
Harry could see the blue lines across the man's hands, and a black rotting disease across his neck. But the man had been Sirius. The man had been his godfather, thrown into the veil with a stunner just like him.
Harry gulped. Was this his fate? It couldn't be, not this.
Tears pricked his eyes but he shook them off and felt rolling waves of anger inside him. Hate. Bellatrix's face fluttered into his mind.
Death eaters roamed the corridors of his ministry, and he felt a rage he had never known before. With an effort of will that took everything he had – and he had broken dozens of imperius curses cast by the most desperate witches and wizards – he moved his hand.
His finger twitched, but otherwise he was frozen stiff as a board. He tried again, gulping in concentration, and he found he could move his wrist slightly. He grabbed his wand, hooked at his belt.
Suddenly magic flooded into him, and he felt powerful. He felt alive again. The abyss wasn't sucking on his magic anymore, because his wand challenged whatever weird ancient spell was in this limbo that sucked out life worse than a dementor. He waved his wand at nothing and shouted with all his anger and rage, "AVADA KEDAVRA!" A green jet of light, the same colour of his eyes, shot forth from his wand, and lit up the eeiree white space with a brilliance, a rainbow luminescence.
A doorway appeared.
It was a small black hole. Swirling clouds beckoned. Harry willed himself forward and felt sad that Sirius couldn't do the same.
Sirius... he did not have the willpower that Harry had to escape the veil.
But Harry was special, he was great, he had magic bursting at his finger tips. So he moved himself into the black hole. It was like sinking in quicksand.
He felt himself dissolving like sugar in water, and he heard a blank buzz in his ears, like bees, that drowned his mind. He felt drunk.
He closed his eyes and went to sleep. A deep deep sleep that had no end, seemingly. When he would awaken, he would take stock of what had happened, and get back to his Ministry, defeat the death eaters once and for all. But now here he was in a weird situation. A strange burning holocaust of all that made his universe.
The Awakening of a witch or wizard is when he or she jumps to her next level, making a quantum leap in terms of ability, magical power, or knowledge. It can happen on accident or it can be manipulated to happen through rituals. The most popular example of an awakening is Albus Dumbledore, who after defeating Grindelwauld had such a powerful awakening he could perform dozens of difficult spells wandlessly. Another example is You-Know-Who, who as a child had an awakening that gave him the ability to speak to snakes. Yet another example is Harry Potter, whose awakening took place when Voldemort struck him with the killing curse as a baby, transferring the ability of parseltongue to Harry Potter. Parseltongue is a prized ability to talk to snakes, because it can be used in rituals to maximum effect and the few known spells existing in parseltongue are extremely dark, dangerous and powerful.
Harry opened his eyes. He saw a bright light in the distance and felt smooth covers across him. He breathed in a scent of antiseptic, of what made the infirmary so disgusting. It was the scent of medicine. He looked around and saw he was in a room. There was a poster on a white wall. The whiteness reminded him of the veil. He felt memories rush through his mind as he looked at the poster detailing quidditch players – one was passing a quaffle to the other – and he heard footsteps.
He immediatley leapt to his feet, searching for his wand. He felt a pain, a sharp digging pain in his side and looked down to see he was bleeding from a wound, a scar across his stomach. Harry groaned in pain and fell to the floor just as the door opened. It was a woman who entered. She had brown hair and warm eyes, dressed in a white overcoat. Was she a doctor... or a death eater? Harry swallowed and decided he wasn't in a position to fight. He would have to trust, something he could never do right.
"W-where am I?" he said with a hoarse throat. She helped him back to the bed, clucking like a mother hen and scolding him for his jerky movements. But her voice was warm and filled with caring. She wasn't truly angry. It was as if she had expected Harry's actions.
"You're in Mayfield General Hospital," she answered his question, as she rearranged his bandages and applied a yellow cream to bruises all over his body. "Mr. Jackson found you in his farm, bleeding, hurt badly. Do you know Mr. Jackson?"
"No," Harry said. "I don't know anybody."
So they were muggles. Ah, this made it much easier. Harry relaxed back into his bed, and closed his eyes, falling into sleep.
He needed to heal, and then, later, he would do what he had to do. But now, it was time for rest.
When he awoke again the nurse was gone. There was a book – a dog eared book – lying on a round table top next to his bed. It was a good hospital room, Harry noticed, very rich and luxurious looking. He picked up the book and started to read the muggle paperback. It was about a ghostly boat, found floating in a lake, completely empty, yet there was a green light around it in the darkness at the dead of night. Sometimes figures appeared in the boat, famous figures – Napoleon, Plato, Socrates, Alexander – it seemed like a doorway or a crack into the world of death. Harry would have laughed before, but after his experience in the veil he did not. He was scared instead, and acknowledged the possibility as all too real.
The door opened. The nurse was back.
But a death eater had a gun pressed to the back of her head.
Harry gasped, and his eyes wildly moved around the room searching for something he could use as a weapon. Then he was startled when the death eater said, "My lord, we've come to escort you to headqaurters."
Harry frowned, what was going on, he wondered.
"Who are you people?" The nurse shrieked. "Are you terrorists? Please let me go."
"Let her leave," Harry said. The death eaters surprisingly nodded. He was wearing a silver mask with a red dot on his forehead, and in a completely black cloak. He moved with a finesse that said he was a trained soldier, a warrior, a fighter. But why had he called Harry "my lord"? That didn't make sense to Harry, and he wondered what to do. He decided to take it slow, be totally telegraphic in his speech and give away as little information as possible.
Just go along with this charade, he decided, until I can regain my health and find out what's going on here.
He got up, or tried to, but groaned and sat back down. "My lord, are you alright?" asked the death eater, concern evident in his voice.
Harry didn't say anything, just looked at the death eater, and let him assume whatever he wanted. He didn't want to say anything to reveal that he was in a bad position. He knew there was a case of false identity on his part, and he was full of questions.
He decided to probe the death eater for information, as subtly as possible. "What's the situation?" He asked in a whisper.
The death eater moved beside him and sat down on the bed. He said slowly, as if he were reading aloud on a page, "We tried to get into Azkaban, but it was too well guarded. Dumbledore was waiting for us, and he and his Order members took us prisoner. I was the only one to escape. You somehow dissapeared while duelling Dumbledore, and I tried to find you. It took me a month and somehow I found out that you were staying in a muggle hospital, in some country town."
"I see. Who was captured?"
"My lord, all of them," said the death eater. "All of them are in Hogwarts, in the dungeons."
Harry nodded. "I need to heal." He said.
"I see you've taken some damage in the fighting, may I ask of what nature?"
Harry froze, at a loss of how to respond. Then he said, one word which somehow explained everything. "Later."
"My lord, let's go to headquarters. I can give you some potions there, and we can get you back to good health."
Harry nodded. He couldn't do anything anyways, and he wanted magical healing for his wounds. So he would have to trust this death eater, this crazy lunatic who evidently served him. He wondered what the red spot on his mask was for, and when he examined it closer he saw it was a drop of blood. That made him angry.
"Portkey, my lord," said the mysterious death eater and handed Harry a pencil. Harry grabbed on to it and felt a pull at his navel, which transported him to a dark room. There was a boarded up window, which Harry peered through, but he could only see a vast field, with no other houses in sight.
In a few moments, the death eater appeared beside him. "Come my lord."
"Take off your mask," Harry said. It was a bold move but he had to determine the identity of the death eater before he could trust the man. Trusting a death eater, Harry laughed at the thought, but right now he had no choice.
"Yes, my lord," said the death eater, and raised a gloved hand to remove the white mask. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat when he saw the identity of the death eater. It was Sirius Black.
Sirius's brown eyes peered into Harry's, and he said, "Come, let's go to the kitchen. I think I can find a pepper up potion."
"Sirius, is that really you?" Harry asked, shocked.
"My lord?" Sirius paused, and then gulped. "It is me, but I don't know how to prove my identity to you right now if you don't trust me."
"It's okay," Harry said, "Let's go." They wandered through the house. It was a large rich house with gaudy expensive furniture that looked like it had been taken from a Persian palace. Harry sat on a plush red armchair in the living room, and waited for Sirius to bring him a tray of potions. Sirius returned, balancing the silver tray in one hand, and holding a wand in the other. It was his wand.
No it wasn't, Harry realized with horror creeping up his spine. It was a yew wand.
Then he saw the reflection in the silver tray. Lord Voldemort's red eyes peered outward. Harry swallowed as he realized he was in some mirror world, some other dimension, or something where he was in the body of Lord Voldemort.
He almost feinted. Instead he gulped down the potions and decided on what to do.
He would have to change the death eaters from inside, because that was the best way to end them. Harry started to make plans, and settled on a relatively simple one. He had to free his death eaters, who supposedly served him, and either kill them himself or set them loose on missions of his choosing, to mold and shape the world as he desired.
Free of the constraints of fame, of expectation from the hero, Harry Potter, he was put in a new set of clothes, Lord Voldemort.
But these clothes were looser, and as he decided he would do. Lord Voldemort was to be obeyed ruthlessly.
Harry smirked. He had plans. Big plans. But he was always in the wrong position to put them to action.
Now he could act, without reservations.
This was a golden opportunity, he decided.
The Minister of Magic is the highest office in wizarding Britain, and can control all the happenings of the ministry in times of war. A minister's sole responsibility is for the people's protection and well being, and as such has been gifted with power over all other department heads. It is the most powerful position a wizard can obtain because he can then access and control the entire ministry government, and thus the entire population. A minister must be chosen wisely because the people place all their trust and hope on him.
Voldemort was sitting on the patio, watching the trees that lined the field, when it happened. He felt a strange shock go up his spine, a tingling feeling, an electrical buzz that awakened him to a new height.
He got up, and his legs felt like water. He collapsed on the ground, unable to move. Then he felt a buzzing sensation all around him as if he were drowning in a thick honey like substance, and he could taste the sweetness on his tongue. He felt lightheaded, almost dizzy with the strange sensations assualting him.
His mind raced to find a logical reasonable explanation of what was going on, even though logic and magic never mixed. He had to find reason in a turbulent world of magic, he had to find answers to questions, answers that could be verified so he was logical, cold, clinical in his means and methods, in his thinking.
He looked around him, at what was once the field and the house, his hide out to what became – transformed – into something more, not a field anymore but a forest.
The Hogwarts castle loomed before him, and his eyes widened, startled with the eeriee sensation that he was in another world.
No. This couldn't be happening, could it?
What was Dumbledore doing to him? Who else could be responsible but the grand master wizard, whose genius mind and abilities made him the most dangerous opponent to Lord Voldemort.
It is a trap, he thought. I have somehow unwittingly fallen into a trap.
He looked around him, and saw two people – aurors, wearing red cloaks – standing beside him. Was he being arrested? By aurors? The thought almost made him laugh.
He had to get more information about his situation, so he looked at one of them, a thin man with a bushy black mustache. He looked scottish by appearance and even had a tinge of the accent when he replied Voldemort's question.
"It's about four in the afternoon, Minister," said the man.
Minister? Voldemort swallowed and hesitantly peered into the man's dark brown eyes. He instantly saw pictures, snapshots in the man's thought processes. They spoke of mysterious things that Voldemort did not understand.
To the auror, he looked like Harry Potter, who was the minister of magic, and had defeated Lord Voldemort once as a baby and once more when he was older.
This was bad. He was in some sort of weird parallel universe, an alternate dimension, a spontaneous rip in time and space had transported him to a situation in which he was totally and utterly unbalanced.
He had to do something to regain control. Voldemort hated feeling he had no control, so he did the only thing he could think of, the only thing that would get him some answers as to who he was, where he was, and what he would do from here.
"Come on then, let's go in there," Voldemort said, pointing to Hogwarts. The aurors nodded and led the way, and they went through the Forbidden Forest on a well followed cow track. Voldemort felt a foreboding sensation in the pit of his stomach that he ignored. He inspected his appearance, and his wand. The wand felt almost the same as his own, but it was made of a different wood. It felt strange, but not wrong, strange but comforting just like his own yew wand.
Voldemort took out his wand as they approached the Hogwarts gates. "Harry! Harry!" shouted a bear like creature.
Voldemort instantly recognized him as Hagrid, a giant of a man but a kind hearted soul nonetheless and easy to be manipulated. Voldemort smiled back and returned the greeting.
"Do you want to have some tea in my cottage, minister?" Hagrid offered, grinning and rubbing his brown wool coat.
"Sure, I would love to," Voldemort smoothly said. "Come on then, and you-" He pointed at one of the aurors and peered into his mind to find out who was in charge in the caste. Ah, Dumbledore, pity the old man hadn't died of old age in this world. "Tell Albus I'll meet him a bit later, will you?"
"Sure thing minister," said the auror and jogged away to the castle.
As the three people entered Hagrid's cottage, Voldemort furiously thought of a good plan. First he had to get more information about the situation. He had to find out who this Harry Potter was, and what his position was in this world, and then he would decide whether he could return home or whether to restart his "projects" in this world.
He had read in obscure books that these time-space rips happened due to ancient magics, like prophecies, or artefacts. Voldemort wasn't sure what was responsible for this new happening, but he would get to the bottom of this.
He would use his genius, talent and sheer willpower to take control. Of everything.
Chapter Two: Negotiation
Harry sat on the armchair and stared into the fire of the fireplace, watching the yellow orange flames lick the wood and burn it to crisps of black ash. He held his yew wand and pointed it at his tea cup, casting a warming charm on it. Then he took it and drank and as he drank his tea, sipping it slowly and letting the taste wash over his mouth, he watched the snake from the corner of his eye.
The snake was long and thick, with black and green leathery skin. She had red eyes, and a way of moving that was at once graceful and violent, as if she could rip out a person's head in less time than he could blink. The animal was deadly, and intelligent as well. Her slit eyes moved around constatly, and her forked tongue shot out of her mouth as if to taste the air around her. She lay at Harry's feet, her fangs too close to Harry's thighs for comfort. Sirius Black watched the pair with dark eyes from the corner of the room, sitting against a wall on the floor and pretending to read a book.
The atmosphere was tense. Harry wanted to say something to break the silence, to communicate with his godfather, a man who was unfortunately a stranger, a stranger that looked like his godfather. No, that was his godfather. But not in this world. Not here, where he was Lord Voldemort.
"Potter." Harry said. "Tell me about them. Tell me everything you know about the Potters."
Sirius gulped, it was inaudible and very subtle but Harry noticed it, and he latched on to the reaction because it meant something. Sirius was nervous about talking about the Potters, nervous about giving away information about his best friend.
Why had Sirius joined the death eaters in the first place? It didn't make sense, Sirius was a gryfindor, a man who had an iron back bone and he would not stand being on the dark side.
So why was he a death eater? Harry couldn't ask him directly or he would blow his cover, and if he blew his cover then the whole world would soon know of his true identity. There would be chaos in the air, and the results would be catastrophic. No, Harry couldn't let anyone know of his true identity under any circumstances. He simply had to bide his time, and muddle through one day at a time here until he could figure out a way to get home.
Home, a word that evoked memories and images, some painful and bitter, others sweet. Too sweet. He was confused. Did he want to go home? Then again, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to stay here.
Sirius said little about them, stating that they had a son, Harry, who was entering Hogwarts, and were aurors who were of average ability. James Potter married a muggle born, Lily, and had three sons and two daughters. On the whole they were of no interest to Lord Voldemort.
But to Harry Potter, who resided in Voldemort's body, the Potters were a very interesting family indeed.
He whispered to Nagini in parseltongue, so Sirius wouldn't hear, "Why did he join me?"
Nagini lifted up her head with a liquid movement that made her seem graceful and utterly beautiful but her deadliness, her danger reeked with her scent, with her every motion of her eyes and tongue. "I think he wants something. He wants to feel some reassurance that only you can give."
"Thankssss," Harry said to the snake and the snake nodded, and went back to lying listlessly, staring into the fire.
"My Lord, the Potters are in hiding currently. They have been for the last fifteen years, ever since we heard of the prophecy."
"The prophecy... That is no concern of mine," Harry said. "What does concern me is my death eaters. Where are they located, and how do I get them out of their prison?"
"They are in Hogwarts," Sirius said, "Albus has them guarded well and it won't be an easy task to plan a break in. The wards there will repel our attempts to sneak in, and to break the Hogwarts wards will take artefacts we don't possess."
"So I have nobody and I am stranded in the midst of my enemies with no back up," Harry mused, "What do you suggest, Black?"
"I think we should get out of Britain, perhaps to Germany. Drumstrang has promising students, and in time we can lure them to our side. The young are always the most easily seduced." Sirius said. He put his book down and stood up, "I think that if we try to help the death eaters in Hogwarts, we will lose time, and energy that could be used for other more profitable endevours."
"Where is Severus Snape?" Harry asked. "I need my potions master, he is always useful and has brilliant ideas, does he not?"
"I suppose," Sirius said, "Though it will look suspicious to call upon him."
"You are a sly man, Sirius," Harry said. "Turn into your animagus for me."
Sirius's eyebrows rose upward and he reeled back in shock, "My lord, y-you know about that?"
Harry's thoughts raced. So Sirius hadn't told Voldemort he was an animagus which meant he was probably working for Dumbledore. Good, Sirius was a spy. Harry didn't want Voldemort to win, but on the other hand he was Voldemort, so he was in a dilema.
And he had to act his role lest Sirius get suspicious and report to Dumbledore. Harry did not want Dumbledore to have even an inkling of what was going on. He knew that Dumbledore would probably cook up some plan that involved a gigantic sacrifice on Harry's part, or something that would in the end go worse for Harry.
Harry stood up, and pointed his wand at Sirius.
Sirius just stood there, did not even try to defend himself. Instead he closed his eyes, as if bracing himself of what was to come.
Harry tried to do it. He tried to say the word that would cause unmeasurable pain to his godfather but he couldn't do it.
Sirius was in the end his godfather, and Harry could not use an unforgivable on him.
But he had to act like Voldemort, so totally that nobody would suspect anything. He knew from experience that working from the shadows was the easiest way to get things done.
And he wanted to change the wizarding world.
That was his ambition, his ultimate goal.
But despite this, he could not curse Sirius Black.
He also could not afford to look weak.
He pointed his wand into the fire place, and instantly the fire lit out. The room was shrouded in darkness.
Sirius gulped, fear reeked off him. Harry could almost smell it.
"I know everything about you, Sirius," Harry said, "And even though you think you are doing this for James, for his son, Harry and for the good of the wizarding world, in reality you are simply following my agenda."
The mark hit bulls eye.
Harry used his legilimency skills to break past Sirius's formidable occlumency shields. The shock had hit his godfather hard and in that moment Harry was allowed a few seconds of unrestricted access.
His assumption had been correct. Sirius was indeed working for Dumbledore. Harry almost sighed in relief, because if he were wrong then the cat would be out of the bag right away.
Harry shook his head, "I have a mission for you. Go to Knockturne Alley and find me something interesting. Something dark and useful, that will help me. You have freedom to choose, so use your head and be creative."
Sirius bowed, "Thank you my lord."
"I won't hurt them, Sirius," Harry said. "I am not a monster."
Sirius looked up, his eyes puzzled, tears shining in them. What is he feeling, Harry wondered. Does he hate me? Is he befuddled by my strange behavior the past few weeks while I have been healing?
Sirius bowed again and apparrated out, leaving Harry alone with Nagini.
He sighed and sat back down in his armchair, and drained the rest of his cold tea.
In a real duel, he would never be able to mimic Voldemort's true ability.
So he could not under any circumstance fight head to toe with Albus Dumbledore.
He would have to be sneaky and cunning, a Slytherin.
The problem was, Harry Potter was a Gryffindor.
------
Voldemort stared at Hagrid's beady black eyes, and wondered silently in his mind whether this was a good idea. He did not want to get too close to the people Harry was familiar with lest he give himself away by his strange behavior.
The element of surprise was an advantage Lord Voldemort did not yet want to lose. He had to first survey the situation and find out his assets, so he could use them for his own personal benefits. And he had to talk to Hagrid, he had to get information yes, but he could not give away his secrets either.
This should be easy enough, Voldemort thought, keep my own words to a minimum and let the buffoon talk his heart out.
"What's going on at Hogwarts these days, Hagrid?" Voldemort asked, as Hagrid poured them a cup of black hot tea. The tea had a unique spicy scent that Voldemort could only identify as a special blend. Some how this tea was the most expensive item in the cramped hut that Hagrid lived in. Voldemort looked briefly in Hagrid's mind, surveying his superficial thoughts and came to the conclusion that it was a gift... from himself. With a dismaying feeling inside he inevitably realized that he was friends with Hagrid. Friendship was a foreign concept to Lord Voldemort, well not foreign exactly. He could certainly fake any emotion he wanted... but the last time he felt anything other than hate and contempt was a long time indeed.
"Dumbledore's passing new reforms for the teachers," Hagrid began, "Stuff you'll be very interested to know I bet, as Minister and all. He's a good man, Dumbledore, and he's really doing something with Hogwarts. He's changing things."
"What sort of changes Hagrid?" Voldemort asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable. It wasn't that he didn't think this was important.
Well he didn't actually. This was boring. He didn't care about the educational changes made in Hogwarts. He cared about what Harry Potter was, what Harry had, in terms of wealth and power. And how best to use it to his own gain, to fulfill the ambitions of Lord Voldemort.
But the question asserted itself in his mind like a lightning bolt: Did he want to go back? Yes of course was the answer at first but then he thought about it deeply, and inside deep inside he felt that no he did not want to go back at all. He was loosing in his world. He was losing his forces, his secret houses, his horcruxes. Dumbledore was a cunning and powerful, not to mention ruthless opponent. This world might be easier to work with, since Voldemort was inhabitating Harry Potter's body and all.
"He's making things stricter and more friendlier to muggle borns and all," Hagrid said, "I can't tell you much because Dumbledore wants to talk to you about it himself, so you'll have to go to him to get the full plans."
"What have you been doing though, Hagrid?" Voldemort asked. "I mean, you must be up to something since I last saw you, right?"
Hagrid nodded eagerly, "I'm thinking of moving actually. Moving to Albania, and raise my own dragon. They're pretty legal there."
"Pretty legal? I was under the impression that they were illegal and forbidden," Voldemort said, smiling softly. "What sort of business are you doing here Hagrid? Planning criminal activities I see?"
Hagrid laughed, boomingly, "No you don't understand. The Albanian government don't actively pursue dragon raisers, considering the civil war going on and all."
"Civil wars are bloody," Voldemort said while his thoughts raced. As minister of magic he could make a step toward Albania, and in the excuse of ending a bloody war he could experiment and find out what his power base was like. If he could call Britain to war, he could instantly see everything move into action, and act accordingly. Like this, he was a sitting duck, with absolutely nothing to go on, and he did not feel like asking questions anymore.
People were quick to notice things, Voldemort had found, and he needed to blend in and be Harry Potter, whoever this fellow was.
James Potter might be his father, then again he might not be. And like father like son didn't always apply he knew. He had to know more, and the best way to know more is to see first hand what would happen in a volatile situation.
Since Britian was at peace now he would need to stir some chaos, he would need to stir some anger and hate, and that was what Voldemort did best.
Voldemort got up, draining the remaining tea, and said, "It was nice to talk to you, Hagrid but I'm a bit short on time today."
"I understand, Minister," Hagrid said, frowning slightly. Voldemort could see he had made a mistake somewhere, because something put Hagrid on edge, a little clue that Voldemort might have accidently let slip put Hagrid at unease.
Voldemort swiftly walked out with his auror bodyguard and entered the castle. It was just as he remembered it, the moving portraits and the shining suits of armor clanking around like knights.
He walked to the Headmaster's office, and waited in front of the two gargoyles for what seemed like a long time, before they finally opened on their own.
Then he went up the stairs and entered Albus Dumbledore's office.
The old man gazed at Harry with ice cold eyes, and said, "Back for a visit, Mr. Potter?" There was harshness in the old man's tone, something that Voldemort was familiar with but was surprising nonetheless. To most people Albus was a mild and gentle figurehead, but the severity of Albus's tone told Voldemort that there was history between Harry and Dumbledore, an unresolved conflict that gave rise to anger and dissapproval on the old man's part.
This was perfect, Voldemort thought.
"I am indeed back, headmaster, and I want to know what you have been doing to this school."
"Just following your suggestions, Minister," Albus said, "Everything's going to your plan. Soon we'll have a whole new generation of students with very little knowledge of practical magic, a new generation of men and women who won't be able to cast even the simplest seventh year spells without difficulty. Is this what you want?"
Voldemort was a bit startled but he eagerly recouvered, "Of course, you know as well as I do that power is dangerous in the wrong hands, so we need to control and manipulate those who will soon have power in order to ensure harmony throughout Britain. But I came here for your advice."
"Oh?" Albus said, "It's been a while since you've asked for my help, Harry." He smiled genialy and leaned forward, "Would you like a lemon drop?" He said, offering a plate of candy to Voldemort.
Shaking his head, Voldemort said, "I plan to declare war on Albania, in order to end the bloodshed going on there."
Albus's eyes widened, "You can't be serious, for such a small thing you want to declare war? It's been only a few years since Voldemort was defeated."
Voldemort was surprised but he didn't let it show. Instead he plowed onward with his newly hatched plan and described his new ideas for Albus. As he was doing so the auror's eyes grew hard and he seemed to grow angrier and angrier, which Voldemort noticed right away.
"Harry you can't do this, it isn't right," said the auror. He had red hair and a strong large body that had seen many wars, judging by the scars across his face and hands.
Voldemort peeked into the auror's mind and found his name, amid a series of average occlumency shields. Dumbledore's eyebrows rose as he detected the legilimency scan. "Ron, please just trust me, this is for the good of the wizarding world. We need a war right now to show the world Britain is just as powerful as before."
"Before? Before what, exactly?"
"Before we lost the empire, Albus," Voldemort said smoothly, as he described his ambition. The spontaneous action was a tad uncomfortable for him but he went with the flow and decided that yes, he would indeed put more spontaneousness in his plans as it was working well right now.
The war would be started in one month, Voldemort said to the two, after Britain trained five hundred soldiers who would march into Albania and take control of the government.
What Voldemort didn't tell them was that he planned to use Albania as a launching point, as a base station against the rest of the world. He could conscript soldiers into his army and now that he had what he wanted – now that he controlled Britain, he could get started on controlling the world.
He could even look at this as a practice run, for when he returned back to his own home. He would learn all he could from putting his plans to action, and then from his mistakes he would form a better strategy. If he made any mistakes, that was, because Voldemort was perfect.
At least that was what he told himself, and he did not notice the suspicious glances from Albus Dumbledore and Ron Weasley, but he did notice the conspiratory look between them and that had him slightly worried.
Ah well, can't win all your battles, Voldemort told himself as he left Albus's office, Ron in his wake.
"Harry! Harry!" Ron called in the staircase. Voldemort ignored him and continued down his path, out of Hogwarts.
"What the hell was that, Harry?" Ron said, catching up and walking beside him. "Are you turning into some kind of dictator? War? It's madness, senseless bloodshed, Harry, will you listen to me?"
Voldemort whirled around on his feet and gazed steadily into Ron's eyes. He said in a tone that brooked no argument, "Ron, I am the Minister of Magic, and you will not disrespect me. You will address me by my title, or you will find yourself in a cell. Is that clear?"
Ron gaped at him, and swung his fist. It hit Voldemort in the cheek. "You fucking bastard, who do you think you are?" Ron shouted. "What the hell's wrong with you Harry?"
Voldemort pulled out his wand, and launched a banishing charm at Ron, who flew to the wall, and hit a portrait of a fairy. Ron groaned as he fell to the floor, but he pulled out his own wand. Voldemort was far quicker, and quickly disarmed Ron.
Then he walked toward the man and said, "I know who I am, and I know where I am as well. This world is changing, the era of a new age is dawning and either you are with me or against me."
Voldemort held out his hand, "Will you stand by my side as I make this world a better place, Ron? Or will you side with the purebloods who hate muggle borns? Will you oppress the weak or will you take the stand of righteousness and the side of the Light?"
Ron swallowed. "I don't know what you are doing with starting a war, Harry, but we've been through too much together for me to abandon you. I'm with you, all the way, no matter what happens." Ron grasped Voldemort's hand and pulled himself to his feet. Voldemort stepped back.
"You should talk to Hermione though," Ron said, "She might have something to say about this."
Voldemort nodded, "Arrange a meeting, Ron, and we'll see if she can be of any use to us."
"Use? Harry, she's our friend, you can't talk like she's some sort of weapon or tool. She's a person!" Ron said, frowning, "You're acting pretty strange today. Are you sick or something? That could explain the war you're about to start but-"
Voldemort raised his hand, wandlessly silencing Ron, "My friends... they love me, do they not?"
Ron nodded, "Of course we do, Harry, we'd give our lives for you."
"Then just trust me, and follow my lead, follow my path, which I shall light up with a revolution. I am looking at this rotten world, Ron, and I see that it must be changed for the better." Voldemort raised a closed fist and punched the portrait as if he were really angry. Voldemort knew he would need to put on a good show to convince Ron, but he was an expert manipulator. "Only a fool without wisdom cannot see the facts. This world needs a hero, this world needs a leader, who will lead humanity to a better place." Voldemort pocketed his wand and started walking out of the great hall, out of Hogwarts.
"You think you're it? You think you're the Chosen One?" Ron said, "I thought you didn't believe in that crap."
Voldemort gazed around the empty great hall, and picked up a silver plate lying on a table. The slytherin table. He had fond memories of his time here in Hogwarts. He raised it, as if to examine it, and saw Ron's eyes reflected. He focused on the eyes and peered into Ron's mind, to see what he was talking about.
Memories flashed by him, and he felt a bolt of lightning strike him. An epiphany ran through him as he realized in a moment of certainty that the world viewed him as a hero.
As a Lord of the Light.
He was dark lord no more, at least, not in appearance. In reality he was a dark creature, a mad hunter with powers of darkness, but he looked like a hero.
Voldemort laughed.
He laughed and laughed, his belly rolling with tingles of laughing nerve signals as he said aloud, "I am what I am, Ron. I simply need to accept it."
Then he walked out of Hogwarts.
And Ron followed, ever the loyal friend.
--------
Albert Nexar was a strange man. Some said he was a genius, others that he was a simple fool, who grew into his greatness by accident after his awakening.
He was dropped from a building, a castle, when he was a baby by his psychotic mother and that gave him an awakening as he was saved – he had unconsciously used his magic to save himself and this let loose a whole plethora of power into his being.
At least this was his first awakening. He had power, all his spells worked instantly and he was a strong dueller. Then when he was thirty he fell off his elephant that he was riding on in India and broke his spine, paralyzing himself.
"So that was my second awakening," he told Hermione over coffee in a muggle Starbucks. "I had a realization, a moment of enlightenment, and suddenly I had the third sight."
Hermione leaned forward, and said, "You could see auras..." in an awed voice.
Albert nodded, and stroked his black beard. "Yes, I could, it was the most beautiful moment of my life, because I saw the medics who came to help me. Hermione, my love, I saw their souls."
"Why did you just call me that, can you see my soul?" Hermione asked as she twirled a finger around a piece of her bushy hair. "What does it look like? What can you tell me?"
Albert laughed and took off his horn rimmed glasses and put it on the table between them. "Souls say everything about the person, past future present and more. All is revealed. But it is not a continous sight, rather to me it occurs in small glimpses, epiphanies. There was a time when..." He sighed.
Then he leaned back in his armchair and looked at Hermione for a silent minute. "After the medics healed me I noticed a decrease in my sight, meaning that there wasn't as much clarity as before. And I have yet to recouver that clarity." He grabbed his mug of coffee and took a deep swig, and then continued, "But with your help I might find a way."
Hermione nodded, "Of course I'll help," she said, "As an unspeakable it's my duty to investigate strange phenomena."
Albert took out a cigarrete and lit it with his wand, and then inhaled, and let it out with a relaxed content sigh. "Thank you Hermione. You have no idea how much this means to me, but I want a favor."
"Yes?" Hermione asked, looking a bit annoyed at the smoke in her face.
"I want to meet Harry, Harry Potter. Some inkling in my subconscious keeps insisting I meet him, a notion that is both strange and ludicrous considering his position, but I have learned from experience to trust it's insights."
"I'll see what I can do, Nexar," Hermione said. She got up, "I am late for an appointment. I'll give you a call, say, next week?"
Albert grabbed her hands tightly, suddenly, and his eyes widened in a barbaric urgent manner. "I see in you a vast intellect, Hermione, I see a good heart as well. And I can see your death. It will come as a betrayal, by a long dead foe, a return from the beyond, a visit from the dark lord."
Albert fell back in his armchair and closed his eyes. When he opened it Hermione was gone.
Sighing, he said to himself, "Poor girl. I hope she'll be alright."
--------------
Harry stared into the fire with a gaze that bespoke of a calmness, a coldness, a certain stillness that seemed to radiate from the figure that appeared outwardly as Lord Voldemort. Plans ran through his mind, like sand running down a sieve, and slipping away. Plans immediately discarded on the basis that he did not have enough knowledge to predict the movements of his enemies.
Unknowingly, he was in the same boat as his counterpart. They both did not have enough knowledge about their new worlds, their new lives, and that put them in a position of weakness. But Voldemort was on the move, and Harry had taken a stance of stillness, a passive seating against the war machines of Lord Voldemort.
When Sirius returned, he came back with a necklace of silver and gold, and an amulet that hung from the necklace. It was a statue made of some sort of black metal that seemed to absorb the light around it, and the head was a snake, the body was that of a woman. Harry took it and held it to the light, examining Sirius's facial features while he did so. Sirius told of nothing but implacable stony servitude, like a dumb beast. Harry was sure that Sirius had his own agenda running behind those brown eyes that he had known as his godfather's eyes, love replaced with some mix of terror and respect hidden beneath the stony beds of occlumency shields.
"Thank you for this," Harry said, "You are truly a loyal follower of mine, Sirius Black. Now tell me, what is the function of this mysterious artefact?"
"I am sure you will be pleased with my find," Sirius said, gesturing to the necklace Harry held. "It's an ancient cursed medallion, that lures the victim into a hynotic unbreakable trance, where the victim sees images of the most terrible types that can be conjured by his subconscious."
"Interesting," Harry said, "I will use this as a torture device later on, when we need information from a particularly resilient person such as..." Harry paused and gazed back into the fire.
"I want you to kidnap the Minister." Harry said. "Immediately. I want him here within an hour."
Sirius's eyes widened, "My lord, you're asking the impossible."
Harry slapped Sirius on the cheek, hard. There was an instant of frozen silence, before Sirius bowed his head and said, "I apologize my Lord, I will try my best to fulfill the mission."
"I trust in your abilities, Sirius," Harry said, "I don't want you to get caught of course, but time is of the essence for me to fulfill my plans. I must get the Minister, for reasons I will not reveal right now."
"How am I to go about this task?" Sirius asked. "With all due respect, the Minister is guarded by seven aurors, at all hours of the day."
Harry smirked, "Luckily night has fallen over us, Sirius. I will come with you of course," he said, "Since you do not seem as confident as I am in your abilities."
"Thank you my lord," Sirius said, "Shall I make a portkey to the Ministry of Magic?"
"The Minister's office will be warded against portkeys," Harry said, "But I know of a few ways to get in. Yes make a portkey for the Department of Transportation. We will go from there up the levels to the Minister and quickly make our leave with him in a body bag."
Sirius nodded, and raised his wand pointing it at a tea cup on the table in front of him. Nagini raised her head. Harry whispered softly to her, "I'll be back soon, I'm going to make a purchase of our beloved Minister of Magic, Nagini."
Sirius pointed at the tea cup, "Your portkey, my lord."
Harry nodded and together they grasped it, and then Sirius whispered, "Portus," and together, godfather and godson were whisked away by the magical device into the belly of the government.
Harry got up to his feet in a seemingly deserted office. Sirius was standing, perfectly balanced, and he looked surprised at Harry's clumsiness. Harry quickly covered it up with an excuse, "I am still in ill health," he said, "So you must take the lead. Come quickly, before whoever uses this office returns, or if a guard should stumble upon us."
"Where are we going?" Sirius asked.
"We'll need to make a stop first, to the department of Mysteries. In specific, the veil," Harry said, "I must see it for my own curiousity. Hurry!" Together, running, they sped down the empty halls of the Ministry, where most workers had gone home. They came across a fat guard, dressed in red auror robes. Harry raised his wand and stunned him without pausing, and they continued forward on their relentless journey, their most dangerous mission yet into the bowels of the foundation of the Ministry building, where the veil that had brought Harry into this world stood, waiting.
Chapter Three: The Ministry Surprise
Harry walked through a low hanging doorway eager and intent on appraoching the veil. He looked around him in the darkness, with Sirius at his back, and felt his whole body tingle with anticipation. As he entered the archway that led to the veil, he felt a small tinge of unease, as he remembered his fall into the veil. It came unbidden, shocking like a bucket of ice water, and seemed to rouse him from a heavy drowsiness he was feeling due to the potions.
He stopped and Sirius halted midway behind him. Harry pulled out a potion from the pocket on his cloak, and downed it. The red liquid guzzled down his throat. He raised the back of his palm to wipe it but stopped when he noticed a silver line running across his hand. He examined it, but as quickly as it had appeared, the line vanished and he was left shrouded in a cold darkness, an eeriee feeling of fear possessed him.
"No," Harry said, "Not the veil today, I'm afraid, Sirius," Looking at Sirius's surprised features, he cursed his gutless cowardice, but doing that simply made him face the fact that he was afraid of the veil. Afraid like a fox is afraid of a lion. The veil was an evil thing, a cursed portal into other worlds and Harry did not blame himself for being scared. It was human to be scared. But fear surprised him. Too long a time had passed since he felt fear, since he felt human. Fear made him more life like and not the powerful unstoppable hero the press made him out to be.
He swallowed, tasting the remnants of the potion on his tongue and started striding in the other direction with lightning quick steps. Sirius followed. "Turn into your animagus," Harry commanded. "I don't want you to be seen here."
Sirius did so, and Harry observed with interest as the big and burly man changed appearance, liquifying and solidifying into his new form, that of a black labrador. Harry led the way down the passages of the ministry, knowing the place by heart, while the dog followed. There was a hidden reason Harry wanted Sirius to be in his animagus.
He wanted to see him again, to see some part of Sirius that reminded Harry of the old, the past, of his beloved godfather. So he could not help but steal glances at Sirius's animagus form as they walked. His eyesight was surprisingly good in the darkness, which in his own body would be abhorrent. But Voldemort was strong, thin, and extremely lithe. He had a runner's body, an athletic firmness developed only through intense training, or, Harry surmised, intense rituals, of which he was currently reaping the benefits from, so he couldn't exactly condemn it without feeling like a hypocrite.
They came across no guards on their way to the staircase, the steps that Harry walked on as Minister of Magic. It felt strange this time to walk on these steps, to walk in the body of Lord Voldemort. He found a sense of vertigo, a sense of loss as he walked, and he realized that his confusion stemmed from the fact that he was so used to the Ministry, so used to being the Minister.
But here he was, entering as a stranger, as a criminal. It almost made him smile, and he would have if Sirius wasn't watching him closely through those beady dog eyes, observing and calculating his every move. It made Harry distinctly uncomfortable to be under that machine like gaze that made up Sirius's intelligent mind.
Up the stairs, to the left, and down the corridor to the end; Harry could recite it from memory. He knew the entire place like he knew Hogwarts, and his knowledge of the Ministry was rooted in his political career. A career which had taken a sudden surprisng turn as Harry was now a vigiliante, intent on bringing the current administration down. As the pair walked to the door of the Minister's office, Harry visualized his obstacles, Albus, the Minister, Albus, Albus, Albus. He felt like grinding his teeth as he thought about the manipulative headmaster, the spider who watched from the center of his web as the caught flies struggled in vain to break the bonds that held them.
He took out his wand and blasted open the door, and they entered the well lit office. Inside there was a fat bald man Harry did not recognize, and behind him, waiting in the shadows stood Albus Dumbledore.
Dumbledore's steely blue eyes rested on Harry and the dog for a few seconds before his wand was in his hand, pointed straight at Harry's heart.
Harry stood frozen, heart beating at a rapid pace. No, this couldn't be happening, he had just walked in on a secret meeting between the Minister and Albus Dumbledore. It was a disaster.
"Dumbledore," Harry hissed, letting the hatred show clearly on his red eyes. Dumbledore inclined his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. The smile looked predatory, like the smirk of a lion before he tore into a helpless deer.
"Hello Tom, interesting to see you here on this fine night, wouldn't you agree?" Dumbledore stepped in front of the Minister, whose face was white and sweaty with fear. The Minister watched the two with nervous eyes that took frequent glances to the fireplace. Harry wondered if he would try to escape. Now that his plan was ruined, Harry wanted to escape from this situation himself but that would be unlike his persona, Lord Voldemort.
And he had to put a good act if he were to succeed in Voldemort's body. Who knew being a dark lord was such a burdensome and difficult task? Harry wanted to sigh, sit down with a drink and chat about old times with the man, just for a sense of normalcy, but he knew he couldn't; he knew he was destined for higher things. And besides, Dumbledore would not let Harry be passive.
So Harry chose to do the brave thing. He attacked. Raising his wand, he cried out, "Sectumsempura!" A brilliant yellow snake as large as his arm shot through his wand and raced toward Dumbledore, who immediately banished it and countered with transfiguring the desk into a giant wooden shield to protect the minister. He started to furiously ward the desk, preparing for the upcoming fight and doing his best to ensure the minister's safety. That brought Harry time.
"Sirius, transform," Harry commanded, and behind him Sirius changed from his black dog form to a human being, wand in hand, face as hard as stone.
"S-Sirius!" Dumbledore said, a shocked look gleaming in his eyes. "You... you were the traitor, not Pettigrew!"
Harry's mind whirled, he had been hoping Sirius and Dumbledore were working on the same side so he could see his true colours at last, but apparently Sirius was indeed loyal to Lord Voldemort.
Harry remembered his training, his intense personal duelling sessions he had paid for with all the gold in the vault. He could take on Dumbledore, but he would not win. He could fight the man to a standstill perhaps, and if he was lucky, he would find a way to escape. But he did not want to take chances, not now.
He held his wand with two hands and clenched his eyes shut, willing himself to remember the prononciation of the spell he was about to do. In parseltongue he started to shout out poetic lines filled with morbid concepts of death and evil, and suddenly the whole room shook. Dumbledore crouched to his feet and transfigured the quills lying on the floor into monsterous knights that shielded him from the first wave of the attack.
Harry's wand glowed and pulsed with a yellow light and suddenly hundreds upon hundreds of snakes shot out of it. Snakes of every colour shape and size, hissing with anger and hatred, poison dripping from their fangs. Harry let them loose and watched them slide around Dumbledore's defenses. Dumbledore tried banishing charms but the snakes were immune to it.
Then Dumbledore screamed out an incantation and smoke clouded the room. When Harry could see clearly, he saw all his snakes had dissapeared, save one. A tiny tiny snake that Dumbledore had somehow overlooked crawled toward the minister's body. It was red and had black bottomless eyes. Harry smirked as the snake leaned up to the Minister's neck and bit him, the fangs sliding in as efficiently as needles from injections. The Minister cried out in pain and tried to thrust the snake off him, which distracted Dumbledore long enough to make their hasty retreat. As they did so, Sirius turned around and said, "Avada Kedavra!"
A bolt of green light sped across the room and hit Dumbledore's distracted body, or would have, if not a small object - an inkpot - had blocked it. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. Sirius grinned and then turned back to follow his master. Harry watched this with an inscrutable yet calculating gaze.
They turned around and ran through the ministry, and despite the alarms yelling out warnings that Lord Voldemort was here in person, they got away with relative ease.
Sirius made another portkey when they reached the Department of Transportation office, and they were pulled away to their home.
Voldemort stared across the table at the department heads gathered together in front of him, in the meeting hall next to the Minister's office. He was still trying to get used to the layout and structure of the Ministry but it suited him fine. He folded his hands together and stared pointedly at the clock. Then he watched a skinny old man with a grey moustache take out a ciggarrete and light it. The smoke that billowed out of the man's mouth stank, a stench Voldemort found disgusting.
Voldemort cleared his throat and proclaimed in a loud voice, "Now that we are all here, I would like to announce my descision about the war."
"The war?" The old man said, "We are at peace, Mr. Potter, not at war. There is no need to discuss war, we should be discussing the trade documents that have arrived from France today."
"The war that I am declaring," Voldemort said. "We need to discuss it. I have seen Albania succumb to the influence of disasterous warfare and see a need to stop it before it escalates. Therefore I am starting a new training program for the aurors. In one month we will have two hundred fully trained aurors to use against Albania."
"This is preposterous," said Jack Malikian, a muggleborn who rose up the ranks to become head of the department of mysteries. "There is no basis on which you can declare war. Not now, not ever."
Voldemort glared at him, "Is that so? Under section twelve of the British Magical charter, it says that if Britain feels a threat to her security, she can anihilate the opposition."
"And you think that Albania is a threat to our security?" exclaimed Jack. "Harry what are you doing?"
"I am declaring war. That's final. The minister is allowed to declare war whenever he feels like it, whenever he deems appropriate. You can follow me or I can declare martial law. It is your choice."
There were grumblings but due to Harry's fame Voldemort could cajole the department heads to join him on the venture.
"Besides, Albania has huge mines of gold and ruby treasures, imagine the wealth we would accrue if we could get our hands on that." Voldemort said. That was the selling point that won the day for him.
Voldemort smiled inside at the pace his insidious plans were going at, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he would be the most powerful figure in the entire world. There were still mysteries to be solved, such as how he came to be here, and how he would go back, but he would solve them in due time.
For now, he would enjoy his war.