Harry Potter, The Orphan Who Survived

by Cain Crimson-Blade

All Hallow's Eve, 1981 A cloaked woman passes a cloaked man whose intent to kill is dripping off him. Following him, she finds a house destroyed, and a baby boy inside, both parents dead on the floor. She takes the boy and leaves, and he isn't heard from again, until 1993, when he unexpectedly arrives at Hogwarts. Harry Potter, the Orphan Who Survived, isn't who everyone hoped for.

2. Harry Potter, The Orphan Who Perished

A New Beginning

Harry, fourteen years old, was sitting outside Flourish & Blotts in Diagon Alley, reading a copy of the Daily Prophet. The story about Sirius had made front page. As he'd expected of the man, Fudge took credit for taking another look at the case himself in his spare time, and figured out something wasn't right. Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt had been given credit for apprehending Peter Pettigrew, and Pettigrew's Order of Merlin, First Class was taken back. He was shamed and disgraced, and sentenced to thirteen years in Azkaban, after which he would be subjected to the Dementor's Kiss. Harry snickered, as Fudge kept his word with the exact punishment Harry had demanded.

Additionally, Sirius had been compensated by the Ministry, and was given an Order of Merlin, First Class, as he would have been the true recipient without Pettigrew's deception. According to the newspaper, Sirius had draped the medal around a reporter's neck before he left the Ministry. Harry was amused by that, and couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. Harry read on, and when he determined that it held no more news worth reading, he left it at the table and walked away. When Harry had been there with Dumbledore, Diagon Alley was very crowded, but that wasn't the case anymore. Harry walked leisurely down the street, browsing windows, looking for interesting things.

Harry eventually found a café and had some refreshments and took a sip of his coffee. He sat quietly for a little while, but was pleasantly surprised when he noticed a particular group of red–headed people coming his way from The Leaky Cauldron. Harry waited patiently, until the oldest of them all saw him.

"Harry!" Arthur exclaimed joyously. "So good to see you again!"

Harry stood up with a smile and shook the Weasley patriarch's hand.

"Likewise, Mr Weasley," Harry returned.

"Oh, come here, dear boy," Molly said and grabbed Harry in a bear–hug.

"It's lovely to see you again, Mrs Weasley."

The plumb woman let go, and Harry's emerald–green eyes immediately met Ginny's chocolate–brown, and Harry felt a small fluttering in his chest.

"Hey, Ginny," Harry said with a smile.

Ginny walked up to him and threw her arms around his neck.

"Hey, you."

Harry reluctantly let go again. He looked behind Ginny at her brothers.

"Fred, George, Ron," he greeted each of them with a nod, and even Ron returned the gesture.

Harry spent the entire afternoon shopping for school things with the Weasleys. He had fun, if he were honest. It wasn't exhilarating, like his fighting classes, or fun in the tough way, like his survival exercises. It was just plain old, boring fun. And Harry liked it. When they were finished, Harry was lugging around books that could help him advance his wizarding studies to seventh–year level. Harry was hoping to at least complete sixth year in the coming term. Ginny was astonished, and told Harry that Hermione would throw a fit if she knew. The Weasley elders were astonished by the level of study he'd dedicated himself to, but they both encouraged him.

When they were all done, Harry invited the Weasley family to dinner at a restaurant in Diagon Alley that he'd seen when he was browsing earlier. They tried to refuse, but Harry insisted that he treat them to the meal, since they were bringing him to the Quidditch World Cup two weeks later. Everyone enjoyed the meal, and sure enough, when they had all eaten their fill and the check came, Harry dumped a small pouch with galleons in the waitress' hand.

"Keep the change," Harry said with a wink and a smirk. The young witch was flustered and thanked him profusely before she left.

Every Weasley had been astonished by the charm he'd exuded right then, Ginny in particular. Soon, Harry and the Weasley's parted ways, and Harry headed home with his purchases.

•••

Harry was lying naked on his bed, panting and breathing heavily, sweat coating his entire body.

"Well, that was amazing," he rasped, out of breath.

"Glad you think so," Meerlinda said, casually lying naked next to him, seeming no worse for the wear. "I bet you're pretty happy about your endurance right now."

"Definitely," Harry breathed out raggedly.

He sat up, the covers sliding off to reveal his bare chest and back, both sporting a few scratch marks. Well, that's what he thought; to any other they might look like a tiger mauled him with its claws, though the wounds were slowly and steadily healing, closing up as if they were being undone. Meerlinda sat up as well, using the duvet to cover her bosom and retain some modicum of modesty. She knew Harry appreciated it.

"Why did we do that, again?" Harry asked. "Not that I didn't enjoy it. Thoroughly."

"Because you've been getting angsty lately," Meerlinda answered. "I don't blame you. You are a male, teenage werewolf, no matter your feelings. Your hormones were bound to act up sometime."

"Right."

Harry reached over to his nightstand and opened a drawer. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

"I would say 'cigarettes will kill you', but with you, that's definitely not the case," Meerlinda mused as Harry lit one and took a long drag.

"They help calm my nerves," Harry commented. "My survival instructor said that it would help me immensely if my nerves were calm, and if that means smoking, so be it."

Meerlinda gave him a stern look.

"Okay," Harry admitted, "so I might have come to like it. So what?"

"Nothing," Meerlinda replied calmly. "I just don't appreciate it when you talk around the subject. You've become too good at it."

"Thanks to you. You're the best teacher I could ever have."

Meerlinda leant over and planted a kiss on his cheek, before she let the duvet fall and got out of bed. Harry couldn't help but stare at her gorgeous, nude body. Not a drop of sweat on her pale body. Harry was starting to wonder if sex with a vampire would be counted as necrophilia. He could list at least three reasons why it shouldn't, without thinking about it. Besides, she was pale and cold now, but when they'd begun, Harry noticed that she used her blood to heat up her body and make herself rosy.

Among other things.

Harry couldn't help the smirk that made its way onto his face.

"I'm taking a bath," Meerlinda said with a grin. "Want to join me?"

"Hell yes," Harry confirmed and eagerly jumped up from his bed.

•••

Harry was packing his things to leave for the Quidditch World Cup. He brought his pistol, bayonet, and a wooden stake, just to be on the safe side. Other than that, he brought a change of clothes and a little food. He would come back to get his things when he left for Hogwarts. Despite her quiet footsteps, Harry heard his mistress walk up to him.

"Have a fun trip," he heard her voice behind him. "I might not be here when you return."

"Dr Dee is acting up again?"

"Yes. He intends on usurping princedom from Anne Bowesley. Personally, I think she is a tolerable Prince, even if she is too pompous for my tastes."

"Glad I won't be here for the fighting," Harry commented. "Dee is a dangerous foe, but I'm honestly more for him as Prince. I like him."

"You've met him?"

"A few times. He's a nice man to make conversation with."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I'm a ghoul. I never told him who my domitor is. He seemed understanding enough. He prefers logic to emotions, a sentiment I can relate to."

"I see."

Harry turned around with his backpack slung over his shoulder, ready to go.

"If I don't see you until I go to Hogwarts, I'll miss you," Harry said as he leant in and embraced his guardian.

"I'll miss you too," Meerlinda returned the embrace warmly. "Make sure to stay safe. I have a feeling something bad will happen to you."

"I felt it too. I'll be careful."

With that, Harry walked through the hallways and corridors of the chantry, and left the place he felt at home the most.

The Burrow

Harry felt his feet touch down on soft soil. He looked around at Ottery St Catchpole, Devon in the English countryside. Ginny had informed him that it was a few miles north from the Weasley family home, and Harry started towards the south. He walked for almost three hours until he saw a house that would best be described as 'crooked', without using disrespectful words. It was extremely tall, and looked like it would topple over any minute, but he was certain it was far stronger and sturdier than it looked. He came up to a large garden, and realized he'd arrived from the back of the house. He circled around, so as to arrive from the front, like a proper guest. He trotted over the front yard, which resembled more of a driveway. He walked up to the front door and knocked. It was six in the morning, so Harry felt a little bad for probably waking them up. He hadn't considered the time when he left London by train the previous evening, and then walked and used his magic to get him the rest of the way. It had been a very lovely hike, and Harry had enjoyed the fresh air and scenery.

Harry heard some quiet rustling from inside, and soon Molly opened the door, wearing nightclothes and carrying some knitting needles. Her face brightened when she saw him.

"Oh, Harry," she said in hushed tones, "it's so good to see you! Come in, come in!"

Molly ushered Harry inside, and he smiled at her graciously.

"Sorry for coming this early, Mrs Weasley. I didn't think about the time when I left."

"Oh, it's quite alright, dear boy," she brushed off the apology. "Come in and sit. I was just making some tea. Would you like a cup?"

"Yes, please," Harry replied happily.

He sat down in the sofa in the living room, and Mrs Weasley came in afterwards with a tray of a tea pot, two mugs and biscuits.

"The others will be up soon enough," Molly informed him. "They were planning on leaving around nine, so you came at a good hour."

She smiled as she poured him some tea and poured some for herself, with Harry offering a small 'thank you' as she handed him the mug.

"Is it happening far from here?" Harry asked as he took a sip.

Camomile and honey. Very lovely combination.

"I don't know," Molly replied. "I think it's in Dartmoor, but I'm not certain."

"Dartmoor's a good week's travel by foot from here," Harry commented. "I don't think your children are up for a trek that long."

Molly chuckled quietly, so as to not disturb anyone sleeping.

"You're taking a portkey there, dear boy!"

"What's a portkey?" Harry inquired curiously. He hadn't come across the word in any of the books he'd bought in Diagon Alley.

"Oh, I forgot!" Mrs Weasley gently tapped herself on the forehead. "You were raised in Muggle environment. Well, a portkey is a magical item which is enchanted to go to a specific destination at a specific time. Say, Dartmoor at ten. It can be virtually anything. A boot, a tin, a comb. What matters is that, like apparition, it takes one or several people from one destination to another, instantly."

"That sounds neat," Harry commented. "Is it difficult to make portkeys?"

"You need a Ministry official to make one, dear boy. Making one without is illegal, and the Ministry can track when an unauthorized portkey is used."

"I see."

Suddenly, Harry and Molly heard a door open, and a tired Arthur walked down the stair.

"'Morning Molly. Harry." He nodded at each of them and started towards the kitchen, until he whipped around and looked at Harry.

"Harry!" he exclaimed, hushed as well, and walked briskly over to the smiling boy. "I'm happy to see you! When did you arrive?"

"A few minutes ago, Mr Weasley."

"That's lovely!"

Arthur went out and got a mug of his own before sitting down with Molly and Harry, and poured himself some tea.

"So, Harry. I hear you were raised among muggles."

"I was."

"Then could you tell me, what exactly is the function of a rubber duck?" Arthur asked before he sipped his tea.

Harry was a little astonished at the ignorance behind the question.

"Well, it's a children's toy," Harry explained. "When the child takes a bath in the tub, you put it in, and it just, floats around."

"So it's purely for entertainment?"

"Well, yes."

"I see," Arthur said and nodded gravely.

You've got to be kidding me.

"And then how–" Arthur was about to ask another question, but he was interrupted.

"Harry!" Ginny squealed as she walked down the stairs. She ran over and hugged him fiercely.

"Well, it's lovely to see you as well, Ginny," Harry said, "but maybe you should get dressed first."

Ginny was wearing only a nightgown. Not of the particularly modest kind, either. It wasn't extremely revealing, but clinging to him in it probably wasn't a great idea with her parents right beside them. Ginny instantly flushed and ran back upstairs, shouting 'stupid, stupid, stupid' at herself.

"Goodness me," Molly said, slightly blushing with embarrassment over her daughter's sleeping clothes. "I'm sorry Harry, she decided to try some new clothes–"

"It's fine, Mrs Weasley," Harry reassured the kind woman. "I don't particularly care what she wears, but everything has its place and time."

Molly and Arthur both nodded in agreement.

"You are a wise boy, Harry," Arthur said. "I would be proud to call you my son."

Though he didn't reveal it through his smile, the comment cut a deep wound in Harry's heavily scarred heart, and he felt tears trying to push their way free from his tear canals.

Son…

"I take from my guardian," Harry said, still smiling. "She's a wise woman herself, and sharp as a razor. Nothing gets by her."

"Well, she seems to have done a fine job of raising you, regardless."

"I think so, too."

A few memories of gruelling training sessions and broken bones momentarily crawled into his mind, but he pushed them down. He'd asked her for it. Harry made casual small talk with the Weasley parents while Ginny changed, and soon, most of the Weasleys were gathered, and even Hermione, as they were about to leave.

"Blimey good to see you, Harry," Fred greeted Harry with a quick handshake.

"You're always a sight for sore eyes," George greeted him as well with another handshake.

"You two as well," He greeted them back.

Ron came down, and looked a little sheepish when he saw Harry. Nonetheless, he walked over and stuck out his hand.

"I overreacted last year," he muttered quietly. "I'm sorry."

Harry was a little taken aback. Most of the people he'd ever dealt with before Hogwarts were pretty awful people, and Harry had mingled with them perfectly. Ron's statement brought a smile to his lips.

"How about a clean slate?" he suggested. "I'm Harry Potter."

He took Ron's offered hand, and smiled.

"Pleased to meet you."

Ron couldn't help the smile that formed on his face, and he shook Harry's hand.

"Ron Weasley. You too."

Right then, two grown men came down from the stairs. One of them was very tall and thin, but he dressed like a rockstar. Muscle–shirt, denim pants and dragon–hide boots. He wore his long red hair in a ponytail, and he had an earring with a fang dangling off of it. And he was really tan for a redhead.

The other was short and stocky by comparison, but he was very muscular, starkly contrasting his brother. His red hair was shorter than the first, but it was still about shoulder length. He looked tan, until Harry realised that he was just extremely freckled. He wore a t–shirt, and Harry noticed the large burn–scar on his arm.

The tall one walked over to Harry first.

"You must be Harry," he stated with a polite smile. "I'm Bill, the oldest Weasley child. Pleasure to meet you."

Harry smiled back and took Bill's offered hand.

"Pleased to meet you as well, Bill."

The shorter one came up right behind him with a smile as well.

"I'm Charlie, the second–oldest. Happy to meet you as well, Harry."

"Likewise, Charlie."

•••

Harry and Ron were making conversation to properly introduce themselves as they walked. Harry found that he actually rather liked Ron. But unlike Harry, who was always in control of his body and mind, Ron was a normal teenager, and he was going through a strange time in his life. Harry understood. After all, he'd gone through some pretty drastic changes himself, even though they were wildly different in nature.

"And I really think Krum is gonna win!" Ron said excitedly. "He's the greatest seeker in the century!"

"Really?" Harry inquired, but he wasn't really paying attention.

Quidditch didn't really interest him, nor had any muggle sport. But when his first friend invited him, damn it, he would go.

"No, not really," Fred interjected. "Ron's just a huge fanboy."

"And you don't have any statistics to back it up, Ron," Hermione chastised.

Without Arthur noticing, Ron showed Fred a rude gesture with his hand. That was one of the things Harry enjoyed about the Weasleys. They were normal. Well, as normal as a wizarding family could be, but normal nonetheless. Meanwhile, there was Harry. A fourteen–year–old whose greatest talent was assassination, who could only barely be considered human. The curse inhabiting his blood, and the primal instincts in his mind served as constant reminders of it. He was a freak, an abomination of nature. An outcast. A pariah. And he knew that his destiny was drenched in blood, void of light and kindness. Not like these people. These regular, happy people surrounding him. Harry would never regret the things he'd done or what he'd become, or might still be changed into. But he was sad that Voldemort had killed his parents. If he hadn't, Harry might become just another person. Regular old Harry. He would have gone to school at eleven, graduated when he was seventeen. Had a job. Get a wife and kids. And then die in his sleep at ninety. Or, maybe a hundred and fifty. Harry wasn't sure of the life expectancy of wizardkind.

"Arthur!" a male voice bellowed from ahead of them.

Harry looked up and saw Amos Diggory, a Ministry official, if Harry's memory and his mistress' spy's report served him correctly. A member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Beside him stood a tall boy, with a striking resemblance to him. Harry could only assume it was Cedric, his seventeen–year–old son and only child. Harry made sure to take note of the boy, for future reference.

"Amos!" Arthur roared as well. "How are you!?"

"Good, good! You!?"

"As good as ever."

Arthur turned to the children he escorted.

"Children, this is Amos Diggory and his boy, Cedric," Arthur introduced them. "You may know him from Hogwarts. He's beginning his last year in the next term."

Though some were less enthusiastic, all of the children greeted them, and Hermione blushed a little at Cedric's smile. Harry, having been raised with charm, manipulation and etiquette at his fingertips, walked up to the pair.

"Good day, Diggory Sr, Diggory Jr," he greeted them both by their surnamed, something he'd learnt to do from his mistress. It showed deep respect and reverence, which might open your prey to further suggestion in the future. "I'm Harry Potter. It's a pleasure to make both your acquaintances." He held his hand out to Amos.

"Potter?" Amos' eyes widened. "I must say, I was sad to hear about your parents. They were most beloved, and are sorely missed."

Harry nodded as Amos shook his hand affectionately. Harry found it strange that almost every adult wizard knew his parents. Harry then shook Cedric's hand.

"Pleasure," Cedric said with a smile.

"Likewise," Harry returned.

Just then, he caught sight of an old boot behind the pair.

"That the portkey?" he asked Amos and nodded towards the boot.

"Ah, yes!" he exclaimed and waved the Weasleys closer. "Come, come, it'll go soon. Just around twenty minutes."

As people sat down to relax until the portkey was going, Harry walked over to Amos and sat down beside him.

"With all due respect, Mr Diggory, how does everyone know my parents?"

"Right!" Amos realised. "You don't know."

"Right."

"In the war against You–Know–Who, your parents were some of the most fearsome fighters on the frontlines," Amos explained. "They were vocal about their opposition against him, and fought with everything they had. They were war heroes," Amos said with a smile. "Then Lily became pregnant with you, and they were forced to go into hiding, so they could have you. Sadly, a despicable man called Peter Pettigrew, who was the secret keeper of their Fidelius charm, turned out to be a traitor, and a lackey to You–Know–Who."

"Right, I read that in the Daily Prophet. So, they were war heroes?"

"Indeed, dear boy! The best the wizarding world had to offer! I'm sure you will achieve great things, just like your parents!"

Why does everyone call me 'dear boy'?

"Thank you for the information, Mr Diggory. I appreciate it."

"Anytime, Harry," Amos said with a bright smile.

Why do most wizards seem so uncharacteristically nice? It's unnerving. When I'm surrounded with Kindred, I at least know that they have no qualms about killing me, even if they don't necessarily show it.

The boot started glowing blue, and Arthur was alert.

"Everyone, grab the portkey! It's going any second now!"

Harry didn't think twice, and followed orders. He grabbed it, along with everyone else, and felt a tug behind his bellybutton. Soon, it felt as if he was dragged through timespace itself at lightspeed, and he became disoriented. But just as quickly as it had come, he felt it lessen again, and he instinctively braced his knees for impact. He hit the ground and rolled over his shoulder into a standing position. He looked around, and saw plenty of other wizards stumbling, as if recovering from a trip themselves. Of his own entourage, only himself, Arthur and the two Diggorys remained standing.

"Nicely done, Harry," Arthur complimented him and looked at his children and Hermione. "Not many can boast landing on their feet after their first portkey."

Harry smiled weakly, his head still light and dizzy from the trip, and Arthur clearly saw it in the boy's eyes.

"You still look like a mess, though," he laughed.

As if to only emphasise Arthur's statement, Harry stumbled backwards, but managed to catch himself with his left leg.

"I could do without the spinning," Harry admitted.

"At least you didn't kiss the ground," Ginny said as she stood up and spat repeatedly at the ground to get the dirt out of her mouth.

"At least," Harry laughed at Ginny's expense.

"I wouldn't recommend laughing at Ginny, mate," Fred said as he stood up. "She's got one hell of a Bat–Bogey hex."

"She can't use magic here," Harry said with a smirk. "And when we get back to Hogwarts, I can use the Shield Charm to defend myself."

Amos, Cedric, Arthur, Hermione, Fred and George all looked at Harry with astonishment. Arthur was the first to speak.

"Harry," he began cautiously, "can you perform the Shield Charm?"

"Yeah, it's quite easy. Why?"

Amos and Arthur looked at each other for a few moments, neither believing what they were hearing.

"Harry, most adult wizards can't use the Shield Charm very well."

It was then that Harry realised that he'd unintentionally flaunted his prowess with magic.

"Why not?" Harry asked, internally berating himself for the slip of tongue. "It seems almost vital to learn, wouldn't you say?"

The ones who realised the difficulty of learning the spell were in awe at Harry's claim of it being 'quite easy'. Soon, however, they shrugged it off, but Cedric still kept attention to Harry.

Soon, the Weasleys and co. parted ways with the Diggorys, and headed through a huge camp filled with hundreds or thousands of tents. Along the way, Harry saw several individuals who would be welcomed in a cirque du freak, and though he'd seen strange things, some of them paled in comparison to what he saw here. Finally, they came up on a tent with a sign reading 'Weasley' outside, but from Harry's extensive use of tents, he instantly knew that it was far from large enough to support nine people. It could support two relatively well, and three would be quite a stretch.

"Are you sure this is the right tent?" Harry asked Arthur, a little concerned. "It's only large enough for three."

Arthur smiled at Harry, and then headed inside without a word. Every other member of the group headed in after him, and Harry would have dropped his jaw if he still did that, when he was the only one still outside. He cautiously walked inside, and saw enough space to support the entire Weasley family comfortably for weeks.

"What the…" Harry muttered to himself and looked around, shocked. "Fuck muggle tents, I'm going magical from now on."

"Language," Hermione said sternly, standing next to him.

"Sorry, mom," Harry retorted with a smirk. "I forgot that I'm not old enough to understand how bad everything coming out of my mouth is."

Hermione stared at him with a face that clearly said 'what?'.

"That did sound better in my head, I agree," he sheepishly excused his statement.

Hermione shook her head with a smile and walked over to the part where she and Ginny would sleep for themselves. There were even hammocks for them all to sleep in. Harry looked to the kitchen section, and saw an old petrol stove and a sink, without a faucet. There were buckets to fetch water beside it, though.

"Make yourself at home, Harry," Arthur called and brought Harry out of his stupor. "You'll be sleeping over there, with me and the boys," he said and pointed to another section with seven hammocks.

"Understood," Harry said on instinct, but cringed internally at it.

You're not a soldier, you're a school boy on a trip with his friend's family. Get it together, Harry, you're slipping.

The World Cup

Harry was sitting in his hammock, reading one of his new books. He'd had to go to a particularly unsavoury part of Diagon Alley to finds books on the subject, but he found that it was well worth it. Of course, he'd used his vampiric ability of deception to disguise himself. No one would approve of the Harry Potter going to Knockturn Alley to buy books about dark magic. He was currently reading Magick Moste Evile, a book detailing dark spells and how to use them. Harry wasn't particularly eager to use them, but if he were going up against a dark wizard who was known to his followers as 'The Dark Lord', and all his followers were known as dark wizards, it would be good to know what they might be capable of using against him. Harry thought that some of the magic in there actually seemed harmless compared to what he himself was capable of, but then he came to the 'Unforgivable Curses'.

Avada Kedavra, the Killing Curse. Crucio, the Cruciatus Curse. Imperio, the Imperius Curse. Huh. Interesting.

Harry kept reading, and when he saw the Killing Curse's description as a blast of green light, something in Harry stirred. A nightmare, a long–forgotten dream of green light and a woman, likely his mother Lily, shouting his name, came into his head.

That's what killed them. That's what He used.

Harry closed the book softly, as he'd noticed that it excluded some faint, ghostly wail when slammed shut. He'd rather not anyone know what he was reading, which was also why he'd replaced the cover with that of one of his school books from last year. He put it down in his bag and got up to stretch his legs, when Arthur came into the tent.

"We're going in two hours, children. Get ready!"

With a smile, he was gone again, and the boys, Harry excepted, started buzzing with excitement. Ginny did as well, but she controlled herself more. Hermione was only marginally more excited than Harry, but being there with friends made her happy. Harry couldn't help but feel the outcast, like he always did. He mingled and socialised, but he didn't connect. He never did. He couldn't. All these people around him… they had no idea what he'd gone through, what he'd become, and what he would have to do. Killing Voldemort was his highest priority, and he would do it the best way he knew how; getting close with a poisoned knife, and praying to Amun that he remain hidden until he struck.

Harry walked out of the tent, and felt around with his extraperceptual senses. He could feel the magic around him now. He'd never been able to accurately sense it when he was at Hogwarts, but he was surrounded by ancient and powerful magic then. It had likely overwhelmed senses that didn't know what to look for. But here, in muggle country, with all these individuals around, he could start getting a feel for the kind of magic they were connected to. It felt similar to what he normally felt from mortal sorcerers, but it was different enough that he could easily distinguish between them.

"Hey," he heard Ginny say quietly behind him.

"Hey," he returned.

She came up and stood beside him, her gaze lingering on his face.

"What's wrong?"

"A lot of things are," Harry replied honestly, "but I deal with them."

"Right. You 'deal with them'," she said herself, remembering what he'd said early in his first school year.

"Yeah."

They stood silently, and Ginny still watched Harry. He was certainly strange for a fourteen–year–old. And so mature, as well. Like he was actually far older. She shook the thought out of her head, and started back into the tent, when she felt Harry's hand on her wrist. She looked at him, but he hadn't even turned to look at her.

"You're my first friend, Ginny," he said, but his face remained ever stoic. "I've been through a lot, and I might tell you everything… eventually. But I'm not used to 'friends', and I need time to adjust. I've only ever placed my trust in my guardian, and I feel unsafe placing it in others, for now. Just let me get to it at my own pace. Please."

Ginny wriggled her wrist out of his grip and took hold of his hand. She squeezed it comfortingly with a small smile on her lips, before she went back inside. Harry smiled sombrely at the gesture.

•••

The large gathering of redheads and friends were making their way to their seats, in a box from where they could see everything. Harry, despite having been at altitudes far greater, was still a little nervous at sitting in such a high place without harness and parachute. Part of his training had involved HALO jumping from up to 30.000 ft into hostile territory in Afghanistan when he had just turned twelve. It had been his first and only military operation so far, and the adult soldiers with him, while not entirely informed about him, had seen some of his hand–to–hand and shooting up close when they tested him for the operation. It had felt so liberating, falling through the air. But he had been wearing a parachute, and he'd had to open it at 120 ft. He felt very nervous as his altitude meter showed him falling into the 400 ft zone, 300, 200, and then 120 ft. But once he pulled the chute, all fear vanished, and he just had to nail his landing, which he did.

Returning to the present, Harry tried not to think of the height at which they sat.

"Scared of heights?" Bill asked, who sat to Harry's left.

"To an extent," Harry admitted.

"Don't worry," Bill said with a reassuring smile. "There are charms on the ground preventing anyone from falling to their death. It feels like landing on a really soft cushion."

"Really?" Harry asked and looked carefully over the edge. "I'd think a drop like that would kill anyone, regardless of magic."

"There's magic for almost everything, Harry," Bill said with a chuckle. "You've nothing to worry about."

Harry nodded and sat back in his seat. He would try his best to enjoy the experience. Of course, an undesirable someone had to make an appearance.

"Well, well, Arthur," came a dawdling voice, and Harry swore he'd heard one almost identical to it somewhere else. "What a surprise to see you here."

Harry turned around and saw a man so very much resembling the boy behind him.

Lucius Malfoy. Death Eater.

Harry was instantly alert, and happy he'd brought his knife and pistol, both of which rested in a custom shoulder holster inside his jacket. Draco looked at Arthur and the Weasleys first, but his eyes soon fell on Harry, and they widened slightly when Harry flashed him a small, wicked grin.

"Father," Draco tapped his father on the arm. "That's him. Potter, the one who attacked me."

Lucius turned his gaze towards Harry, and Harry stood up with a smile and walked around the cluster of seats the Weasleys, Hermione and himself sat in. Arthur was about to stand and diffuse the situation, but Harry made a hand gesture for Arthur to remain seated and calm.

"If I recall correctly, which I always do," Harry began with a smirk, "you're the one who attacked me. I merely defended myself."

"You strung me up by the ankle, you filthy half–blood," Draco spat.

"Now, now," Lucius said and quieted his son. "Let me handle it." Lucius then turned to Harry with a menacing glare. "So you're the one who humiliated my son?"

"He made a fool of himself," Harry countered calmly. "He didn't see the trap I'd laid for fun."

"You make traps for fun?" Lucius sneered.

"Yes, I do. I like to go camping in forests, so I make snares for rabbits and foxes." Harry remained calm and smiling. "Ever tried fox, Mr Malfoy? It's quite delicious, if you get used to the wild taste of a predator, that is."

Lucius also remained calm.

This is what I'm used to. These people, I understand.

"That does not change the fact that you humiliated a Malfoy, Mr Potter. I can have you expelled from Hogwarts."

"Fine," Harry shrugged his shoulders.

Everyone there was shocked, even the Malfoys.

"Harry, you can't–" Ginny was about to say, but Harry quieted her with a hand gesture.

"But if you do get me expelled," Harry said quietly and walked close to Lucius, and beckoned for him to lean closer, which he did, "I will plant an anonymous tip of Death Eater activity happening in the Malfoy estate. I know people who can make it happen, and who'll listen to whatever I accuse you of. Fudge isn't as powerful as you might believe, and I'm on to you," he whispered in Lucius' ear.

Lucius stood back to his full height, glared maliciously at Harry, then walked over to his seat, Draco looking at him bewilderedly and following behind him. Harry turned back to the Weasleys, and they were all shocked speechless, but Arthur, Bill and Charlie the most, who somewhat understood what he'd have to say to get such a reaction out of Lucius Malfoy.

"Harry," Arthur began suspiciously, clearly rattled that a fourteen–year–old could force a wizard of Malfoy's standing to retreat with mere words, "what did you tell him?"

"I'll tell you when we go back to camp," Harry replied, his face once again stoic and calm.

He sat down, and ignored the stares he got from the others, and watched the game.

•••

Harry and the others were walking back to camp after the match. Most were talking about the game, how amazing it was. But the adults all kept an eye on Harry. Not that he didn't understand why. All of a sudden, screaming started from the direction of the camp, and loud laughter. Arthur stopped and made sign for the others to as well. He listened intently, just as everyone else did. He soon realised that something was very wrong, though Harry had suspected it the moment he saw Lucius.

"Children, stay here!" Arthur said with authority in his voice. "Bill, Charlie, follow me!"

Arthur, Bill and Charlie drew their wands and started towards the camp, but they quickly noticed Harry following along.

"Harry, I told you to stay!" Arthur shouted at him. "It's not safe!"

"I'm not your son, Mr Weasley," Harry said coldly. "I mean no disrespect, but I am going."

"Harry, don't!" Hermione shouted. "It's dangerous!"

"So am I," he said stoically as he ran ahead of the adults.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted at the crowns of the trees. "Stay here!" he yelled at Hermione and his children.

The three adult Weasleys ran after Harry, and when they came to the edge of the forest, they saw him kneeling on a masked man dressed in black robes lying on his stomach, the man's wand arm twisted painfully behind his back. With a final pull, they witnessed the boy break the man's arm, and then hit him in the back of his head with the handle of a large knife with a silver blade. They were shocked by the brutality, and then, without hesitation, Harry ran off into the fray, knife ready to deal death. Bill and Charlie looked at their father with horror painted on their faces, only to see the terror on his.

"Start evacuating those who can't defend themselves!" he shouted at them and brought himself out of his stupor. "Send them into the forest!"

His sons nodded and went out into the camp, wands in hand. Arthur remained and stared at the Death Eater on the ground, unconscious and with a broken arm. Both of which caused by a fourteen–year–old boy. He shook himself and ran into the now blazing camp in order to save as many people as he could.

•••

Harry withdrew his blade from the throat of the masked man. That was the third he'd dropped this night, and only the second he'd killed. The Death Eaters sure weren't sharp. Harry couldn't imagine how people had feared them in the war.

Must have gotten rusty.

He got up and ran towards a small group of them, about seven. He used burning tents as cover from sight as he approached, and when he was within a metre of them, it was already too late. His knife effortlessly slashed the man's throat, even through the robes. His companions noticed him fall, and looked around.

"WHO'S THERE!?" one of them shouted.

"STAY IN FORMATION!" another commanded.

All of a sudden, the second was pulled away from the group and dragged through a gathering of tents. He was screaming all the while, until his scream was cut short. None of them had seen what happened.

Five.

There was a loud 'crack', and one of them fell over, dead where he landed.

Four.

"WHAT'S GOING ON!?"

"I DON'T KNOW! FORM A CIRCLE!"

They did as told, and covered all angles. Well, almost all angles. A hand blasted out of the ground and grabbed one of them by his ankle. He didn't get to scream.

Three.

Looking down, the Death Eaters saw their comrade sticking out of the ground, buried from his chest down, and his throat cut. His head was attached only by his spine and the flesh on the back of his neck.

"RETREAT!" the supposed leader shouted, and blasted off with a 'crack'.

The others did the same, and soon, everything in the camp besides the cackling of fires everywhere was silent. The heat was oppressing, and the smog was heavy as Harry slowly emerged from the ground, his face and clothes covered in blood and dirt. His face was stoic as ever, and he looked up to see a large, green bolt be fired into the sky, which formed a large image of a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth like a tongue. He closed his eyes and relaxed his grip on his bloodied knife. He inhaled deeply and relaxed.

It wasn't long before some wizards popped into being all around him and shouted a spell Harry had intended to try for some time.

"STUPEFY!"

The Stunning Spell, twenty red bolts of light blasted into him. Harry fell to his knee, feeling the effects of the spell, but he didn't go down.

"That's some 'thanks'!" he growled angrily.

"STUPEFY!"

Twenty more red bolts struck him again, and he gasped under the concussive force of the spells. He was now on his hands and knees.

"How isn't he down!?" a man shouted with a frightened voice.

"Keep blasting him!" another said.

"STUPEFY!"

Harry shouted in pain, but didn't go down. He looked defiantly up at the man clearly in charge, an aging man whose very presence screamed authority and power.

"That the best you can do?" Harry asked with a vicious smile and malevolent glare in his eye. "Fuckin' pansies."

"STOP!" Harry heard Arthur's voice roar. "THAT'S HARRY POTTER!"

Harry looked up at Arthur as he came running. Arthur was shocked at Harry's appearance. Harry was dirty, covered in blood, had a small stream of blood coming from his own mouth thanks to the fifty–something Stunners he's just taken at practically point–blank range. Harry could feel his ruptured liver, kidneys and spleen slowly recovering, thanks to his lycanthropic properties. But what really brought home the horror in Arthur was Harry's defiant, loathing and somewhat wild glare. Like a bear that just wouldn't go down.

"Harry!" Arthur looked at Harry with saddened eyes. "What happened!?"

Harry breathed raggedly. His body had never been subjected to harmful spells cast by wizards, making it all the more uncharted territory with the extent of his magic–resistant body, and repairing the damage was taking a lot of energy out of him. He willed up some of the power of his vampire blood to speed up the recovery.

"The Death Eaters retreated," Harry panted out. "I overwhelmed them."

Arthur's eyes flickered to the bloody knife in Harry's right hand, and the blood splattered all over him. His eyes scanned the surroundings and saw the corpses clad in black.

"Tell me you didn't do this, Harry!"

"Oh, but I did," Harry said with a wicked smile.

He let out a strained chuckle, but stopped when he coughed up more blood.

"Arthur, what's happening!?" Amos Diggory shouted when he and his son came up to the group of Ministry officials.

Cedric's eyes widened in shock and disbelief as he saw Harry with his vicious grin.

"Harry?" he asked aloud.

"Get back, all of you!" the old man who Harry presumed was the leader of them shouted. "We're arresting a criminal!"

"For protecting innocent people from death, Mr Bartemius Crouch?" Harry rasped out with a chuckle. "Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation?"

Everyone turned their eyes to Harry in surprise, but none more so than Crouch himself.

"How do you know about me, boy!?" he spat.

"The Ministry should consider upgrading its security," Harry openly mocked the old man. "It's quite pathetic, really."

Crouch was angered greatly by the insinuation that the boy had infiltrated the most well–guarded part of the Ministry of Magic. He slashed his wand and threw an invisible spell at Harry, which cut him across his face and opened a large wound.

The Severing Charm.

Harry's smile didn't fade in the slightest.

"Is that all?" Harry asked once more with a grin to rival the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. "Come on, old man! If you're gonna hurt someone, make it fucking hurt!" he shouted at Crouch.

Harry had long realised that he was in a position to be killed, but he stopped caring, mostly thanks to the unnatural wrath inhibiting the more rational parts of his mind. He'd helped those fucking civilians by taking out those who hurt them! You don't alleviate the symptoms, you kill the infection!

Every adult was growing uncomfortable and restless.

"No wonder Voldemort came to power," Harry said. "The Ministry isn't exactly a great fucking institution."

"HARRY, THAT'S ENOUGH!" Arthur shouted and stormed over to him.

"GET BACK FROM HIM, ARTHUR! HE'S DANGEROUS!" Crouch shouted at the redheaded man, but Arthur didn't stop.

He used his wand to conjure up a blanket which he gingerly wrapped around Harry. Harry's rage subsided considerably at the gesture, and the force holding him up was dwindling. Arthur's hands felt comforting through the blanket, almost like Meerlinda's. Harry slowly wiped his blade off in the robes of the Death Eater next to him, and then sheathed it. He tried to stand, as weak as he felt. Despite the severity of his injuries, he stood up on his own.

"Tell me how you took sixty Stunning Spells without going down!" Crouch shouted at him. "No one can do that! Even dragons only take eight at most."

Arthur looked at Harry worriedly. Had he really taken sixty Stunners? Harry looked at Crouch, still with the ever–rebellious expression, but said nothing. He started limping in the direction of the Weasley tent, but another four Stunners struck him, and he stumbled forward. He gasped as he felt his spleen rupture just a little further, but he didn't fall.

"I just want to sleep," he said weakly. "Yes, I took six lives. But look around you."

Some of the officials did as he said, and saw dozens of civilians either dead or wounded.

"I may just have saved dozens more."

Harry limped slowly forward once again, but no one fired a spell at him this time. Bill and Charlie, both somewhat dirty and hurt themselves, came running, but stopped dead in their tracks when they saw the shape Harry was in.

"Harry!" Bill shouted as he ran up and grabbed hold of the boy, who was just about to pass out. Bill grabbed one arm, and Charlie came up and grabbed the other.

They both saw all the dirt and blood that caked Harry's face and clothes, and looked to their father. He nodded, and they dragged Harry back towards their tent while Arthur smoothed the situation out with the Ministry. It was then that the injuries he'd sustained from the sixty–four stunners caught up with him, as the rage that kept him awake faded, and he fell unconscious with it.

•••

Bill and Charlie dragged Harry into the tent, and all the other Weasleys and Hermione jumped to their feet when they noticed. What struck them first was Harry, bloody and dirty, hanging limply from the brothers' grips.

"HARRY!" Ginny exclaimed and ran towards them.

"Ginny, don't!" Charlie shouted.

Ginny stopped dead in her tracks, her face the very picture of worry and concern.

"He's stunned," Charlie said calmly when she stopped. "He's hurt, bad. Don't come near him."

He and his older brother then gingerly carried Harry over to the boys' section of the tent. Bill temporarily let go of Harry and made a makeshift bed of the pillows and duvets the tent was equipped with. Harry was then gently placed on the makeshift bed. Bill withdrew his wand and waved it over Harry, mumbling some quiet incantations. He frowned when he stopped.

"What?" Charlie asked nervously.

"He's recovering," Bill said with disbelief and suspicion. "His body is healing itself, right now. And quickly."

"What!?" Charlie asked and stared at Harry.

Sure enough, Harry had been pale as a sheet, but under the grime on his face, Charlie could make out his face gaining colour rather quickly.

"What in Merlin's beard is this!?" he whispered.

Bill looked suspiciously at Harry, then reached up and took his earring out of his ear.

"What are you–" Charlie asked, but quieted when he saw what Bill intended to do.

Bill placed his silver earring on Harry's cheek, and they saw his skin instantly turning red, and it began sizzling, like oil on a frying pan. Harry's face scrunched a little, but he remained unconscious. When Bill removed his earring, it had left a small scar, almost like a burn.

"Oh my–" but Charlie couldn't finish the sentence.

"He's a werewolf," Bill said quietly to make sure the others didn't hear him.

"What should we do?" Charlie asked Bill in a whisper.

"What Mum and Dad taught us," Bill said calmly. "Treat him no differently than we already have. He's been nothing but kind and polite, Charlie. If we turn on him because of something he can't help, what does that say about us? Mum and Dad taught us to accept everyone as they are, not what they are."

"You're right," Charlie sighed. "Doesn't mean I like it, but you're right."

Just then, Arthur entered the tent, heaving from the running he did to get back.

"Where is he?" he asked.

"Over here, Dad," Bill called.

"Right," Arthur said. He turned to the others. "Children, stay back."

"Dad, what's going on!?" Ron asked. "Bill and Charlie drag Harry in here, and he's covered in dirt and blood, and not even conscious!"

"Some people from the Ministry cast him a stunner. He'll wake up, but for now, don't come near him."

Arthur then walked over to his eldest sons.

"How's he doing?" he asked in hushed tones.

"His liver, spleen and kidneys are practically dust, but they're already recovering, and quickly," Bill said, then pointed at the small burn mark on Harry's cheek. "But his skin burns when it touches silver."

"He's a werewolf!?" Arthur practically hissed, his voice sounding like a quiet shout. "No wonder he could take so many stunners!"

"What're you talking about, Dad?" Charlie asked. "Even dragons can't take more than ten stunners! How many did Harry take!?"

"Sixty–four, apparently," Arthur replied. "But I've talked with Lupin about werewolves once. He claims that when werewolves transform, it takes an absurd number of stunners to take them down. He said it's got something to do with their anger. When werewolves get angry, they become stronger, it would seem, and they are barely affected by any magic to deceive or shut down the mind. And Harry looked just about ready to lash out when I came there."

"But sixty!?" Bill muttered. "I don't think even a giant could survive that, let alone keep walking!"

"I don't know, boys," Arthur looked downcast. "We'll ask him when he wakes up."

"Well, let's go outside, then," they heard Harry's voice, and looked at him. "I'm wide awake now."

They were all practically stunned.

"How!?"

"Well, as you said," Harry argued and propped himself up on his elbows, "when a werewolf gets angry, he gets stronger. And he heals faster, too."

Harry stood up, then clutched his stomach for a second.

"Harry!" Arthur ejaculated, but Harry waved it off.

He walked out the tent and threw the other children an apologetic look.

"You coming?" he called to the three adults, who rushed out after him.

Harry walked over to the edge of the forest, which was rather close, then sat down. He grabbed a handful of dirt and rubbed it in his face.

"We wolves are creatures of the Earth," Harry began, making sure to use the dirt to rub all the dried blood off his face. "When we take our true shape, our Crinos form, we become practically unstoppable. But we can learn, given time and practice, to access our stronger powers even in our birth forms."

"But sixty–four stunners, Harry!"

"Well, sixty–four stunners was all it took. First you have to account for my physical fitness, which is far above that of any normal human's capability. Next there's the moon," he said and pointed at the moon. It was a full–moon. "When the moon is full, I'm at my strongest. Unlike the werewolves you know, I don't have to change on a full moon's night, but it certainly becomes easier. My wolf powers also become stronger. Honestly, if I transformed into my strongest for right now, I'd likely be able to throw a loaded fuel truck, or an elephant."

The older men looked at each other sceptically. But they sat down like him, and decided to listen.

"Now, sixty–four stunners. That was a tough one. But since it's the full moon, my defences and healing ability are both at their highest. My fur and muscles took most of the impact, and then my body started healing until the Ministry officials fired again."

"But you weren't transformed, you didn't have fur," Arthur interjected.

Harry reached down and pulled his shirt up to reveal that his stomach and chest had grown fur, and seemed far more muscular than it had before. Then, before their eyes, it pulled back, leaving an ordinary, if rather muscled, torso.

"Partial transformation is really hard. And the more precise the area of your transformation, the harder it is. Took me months to learn that trick. And manifesting fur without any other change is extremely difficult. I still have to transform the entire appendage I want to cover with fur."

"What's so special about your fur?" Charlie asked.

"Werewolf fur is surprisingly durable, and highly resistant to both tearing and magic. That's why it takes silver weapons to really hurt werewolves all that much. A regular knife couldn't get through most werewolves' fur. But silver burns right through. Speaking of which," he cringed as the small burn mark from the silver earring slowly faded, leaving nothing to indicate that he'd been touched by the accessory.

"You can heal silver that easily?" Bill asked suspiciously.

"Nothing easy about it, Bill," Harry said calmly. "I have to direct all my energy to heal it. Meaning my other injuries will stay as long as I do."

"Oh. Right. How's your injuries?"

"Ruptured spleen, liver and smashed kidneys," Harry said casually. "Kidneys are back, the liver's whole and the spleen will be fine in another few minutes. Wolves are said to be extremely hard to kill for good reason."

Harry reached behind his back and pulled out his silver–bladed bayonet. He then dropped it, with the tip landing in the dirt.

"That's why I always carry that around."

He then reached inside his jacket, under his left arm, and retrieved his SIG pistol. He cocked the slide and caught the bullet that flew out of the ejector mid–air. He held it out to show them the silver jacket on the lead core, some minute amount of his skin turning slightly red as it lay there.

"And this."

He released the magazine, put the bullet back into place, slammed the magazine back into the pistol and holstered it. He then grabbed his blade, wiped it off, and put it back into its own holster.

"So you're a werewolf–hunting werewolf?" Charlie asked, confused.

"Not by any stretch of the imagination," Harry chuckled. "I just like being prepared for anything. Besides, the knife and gun can be used against anything that can be shot or stabbed. Silver just adds that little extra benefit."

They were all silent for a while.

"Harry, you killed men tonight," Arthur said gravely. "Do you realise what you've done?"

"Of course I do, Mr Weasley," Harry answered calmly. "Not the first time I've taken out trash."

"They weren't trash, Harry! They were people!"

"They were scum. The world is better off without them. Look at what they did tonight alone," Harry said and gestured out towards the veritable sea of tents, a good portion of which were burnt down. Corpses were plenty, as were people tending to the wounded. "I'm going to kill Voldemort someday," Harry said stoically, "rid the world of another tyrant, and get my sweet revenge, while I'm at it. When I do, I'm leaving the wizarding world to its own. I don't want to be part of it any more than I have to."

"Harry, revenge isn't going to lead to anything good!" Arthur pleaded.

"Aren't you listening to what I'm saying, Mr Weasley?" Harry asked. "I'm not interested in being a good person. I'm interested in brutally slaughtering someone who euthanised my parents. I'm not going to turn into Voldemort, I have no intention of ruling anything. But I'm not sticking around after he's dead and gone, for good this time."

As much as Arthur hated it, he realised that he would never be able to change Harry's mind. He needed to accept that Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was a remorseless killer.

"I want you to stay away from my children," Arthur said seriously. "If you are going down the dark path, you are not dragging my family with you. Once we return to Ottery St Catchpole, you go home, and you don't talk to my children, you don't look at them, you don't go anywhere near them except pass them by in the common room, hallways and classrooms. If they try to initiate conversation, you walk away without a word. Is that understood?"

Bill and Charlie both looked at Arthur with wide eyes. They both understood where it was coming from, but Harry had only been nice to them. Then they looked at Harry. His face and eyes revealed only a fraction of regret until it hardened into stone.

"Fair enough, on the condition that you'll tell your children your decision, and why you chose it."

Arthur nodded, and Harry did as well.

"It's settled, then," Harry said. "I'll respect your wish, but in that case, I'm leaving now."

Harry stood up and walked back towards the tent. The older men followed him. Once he entered the tent, he made the extra effort not to interact with the Weasley children. He grabbed his things, stuffed them in his backpack without a word. He then walked to the opening of the tent, but stopped. He looked back at Hermione.

"See you at Hogwarts," he said to her with a small smile, then headed out into the night.

He can't tell me not to talk to Hermione.

Arthur looked out after him until he was gone from sight.

"What the bloody hell is up with him, that git!" Ron exclaimed. "I thought we were gonna start over!"

"It wasn't Harry's choice to ignore you," Arthur said solemnly. He could no longer hold back the sorrow that welled up in him when he heard Harry speak. "I told him to never speak with our family again."

The children all looked at him with varying degrees of shock.

"Come sit," Arthur said and gestured to the large dinner table with chairs for all of them. "There's much I need to tell you."

They all sat down, and despite Arthur's reprehension towards Harry, he still missed the presence of the only missing person from the table.

"Harry Potter isn't who, or even what, we all thought he was."

Beginning of a New Chapter

Ron was sitting in the compartment along with his siblings and Hermione, all of whom were in a sour mood. Harry had passed the compartment when he'd looked for a place to sit, and despite all the Weasleys begging him to sit with them, he only looked at Hermione and greeted her. Though, it had put the Weasleys at ease when Harry had asked Hermione to pass a greeting to them. They understood he was only doing as their father had asked him, but they were relieved that he cared enough about them to indirectly greet them when he saw them.

"Well, you've got to give him credit," George commented. "He knows how to exploit loopholes."

"And for being a werewolf, he seems so calm and at peace with it," Fred added. "I mean, he can control his transformations, but still! Having a monster inside you! He's a cold fish!"

"I think he just has far more strength of will than most other people," Ginny commented as well. "He runs for hours without stopping, even when he looks like he's ready to drop any second. And when he does his strength exercises!? He kicks and hits the big oak tree hard enough to rustle it, and he doesn't flinch!"

"He's really incredible though, isn't he?" Ron asked no one in particular. "Think about everything he must have gone through to become like that. I mean, according to Dad, he supposedly carries weapons with him everywhere. I can't even begin to imagine what someone must have been through to become so paranoid of dangers everywhere."

That quieted everyone in the compartment, because they all realised he had a point. To never feel safe without a weapon… something really bad must have happened. Hermione turned her eyes back to her copy of the Daily Prophet, and her eyes bulged. She quickly flipped through the pages and landed on a specific one. She felt like she had been stabbed in the gut.

"What is it, Hermione?" Ron asked and took the newspaper out of her hand.

After a few seconds of reading, his smirk dropped and he started becoming pale.

SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP!

Last Monday, on August 18th, a group of masked men convened and started attacking civilians at the 442nd Quidditch World Cup, held in Dartmoor, England, between Ireland and Bulgaria. These men were dressed in a manner similar to You Know Who's Death Eaters during the Wizarding War, and started attacking muggles and muggleborn wizards and witches. Civilian casualties have been confirmed to be 19, with dozens more injured.

The corpses of some of them were discovered, along with a dirty and bloody fourteen–year–old boy. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was found with a bloodied knife in his hands by Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, along with a few aurors and members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. According to an anonymous source, Potter proudly confessed to have slaughtered the copy–cat Death Eaters by partial decapitation, evisceration and stabbing. Our source also claims that he mocked, belittled and aggravated Mr Crouch by stating that he had snuck into the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic. Our source believes the last to be merely a jab at the senior ministry official, and should be disregarded.

When authorities tried to arrest Potter by stunning him, our source describes, he took three blasts of twenty stunners. It is clear in the mind of our source that Harry Potter is clearly a dark creature of some kind, but exactly what, our source can't confirm.

Ron couldn't keep reading, and put the newspaper down.

"Merlin's beard…"

•••

Harry stalked through the train, watchful for an empty compartment. People stared at him like he was a monster. They had likely read the Daily Prophet.

At least they won't bother me.

He reached an empty compartment, save for a couple of youngsters, likely new first–years. Harry went in .

"Any of you mind me sitting in here?" he asked with a smile.

"Not at all!" one of the small girls said, and padded the empty seat next to her.

"Thanks a bunch," Harry said, placed his trunk on the hanger overhead, and then said down. "So what's your name, then?"

"I'm Molly Strasbury, and this' my sister, Jackie!" Molly pointed at the girl sitting on the other side of her. "This' gonna be our first year!"

"I'm Kristian," the small boy across from Molly said, "their older step–brother, and a proud second–year Gryffindor. You can call me Kris."

"I'm Benjamin, his Slytherin twin," said the boy next to Kristian, who really did look exactly like him, "and you can call me Ben."

"Gryffindor and Slytherin?" Harry asked with a smile. "Rare sight to see them together.

"We know," they said in unison.

"But, you know, there's something most Gryffindors and Slytherins don't know," Harry said mirthfully.

"What's that?" Kristian asked curiously.

"Godric and Salazar were best friends," Harry said and winked. "About as close as brothers."

Kristian and Benjamin smiled at each other and bumped fists.

•••

The ride was spent making small talk, as was the carriage ride with the boys. Their younger step–sisters had to take the boats. Harry and Kris made their way to the Gryffindor table after departing with Ben. Everyone older than twelve or thirteen seemed to have read the Daily Prophet, or at least heard of the story about him.

And just like that, my practically spotless reputation is ruined.

Harry would deal with it later. For now, he would enjoy his last night of being just a face in a crowd used to having around THE Harry Potter. Oh, he had relished in the anonymity he had built up over the last part of the previous year. Now, 'twas gone. Sadly. Ginny came over and sat next to Harry, and stared at him. He wouldn't meet her eyes, or look at her, but the corner of his mouth did rise in a smirk.

"It's rude to stare like that," Kris told Ginny as he leant in over the table to address her.

"She knows," Harry replied on her behalf. "Our parents got into a disagreement, so I can't talk to her now."

"Oh, okay," Kris said and turned to look back at the first years rolling in for their sorting, but his face turned into a frown and looked suspiciously back at Harry. "You're Harry Potter."

"Yes?"

"Your parents 're dead."

"Got me," Harry chuckled quietly as he padded Kris on the shoulder. "You've got a good head. Use it."

Kris couldn't help a grin, and turned back to the sorting ceremony. Harry kept ignoring Ginny, even when she started poking his face with her index finger repeatedly. Harry wanted to laugh, but he thought it'd be better if he didn't.

•••

Halfway through the feast (Molly and Jackie had both been placed in Hufflepuff, home of the loyal, honest, hardworking and patient), a man known as Alastor Moody was introduced as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Harry knew who the man was. Ex–Auror, considered the best of his time, a seasoned war–veteran, and descended from a long, reputable pure–blood lineage of Aurors. Harry felt an immense respect for the man, seeing as how they were at least nominally similar, it would seem.

Dumbledore had also explained to the school that Quidditch wouldn't be held that year, seeing as the Tri–Wizard Tournament would be held at Hogwarts instead. The wizarding schools Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would come to Hogwarts to participate. Harry already knew it, from a report from one of Meerlinda's spies in the Ministry. He had been introduced to the spy during the summer so that he would know who it was, and that the spy would know that reporting to Harry was acceptable, and even required.

As soon as the feast was finished, Harry stood up and marched outside of the castle. Ginny looked after him worriedly, but followed the prefect upstairs so she could go to bed. Harry walked around the lake, clearing his mind and collecting his thoughts.

I'm suspected to be a dark creature. No clue as to which one. Clearly, I would be stamped as a 'Being' since I have human intelligence and knowledge of society and social traditions and norms. I have to reach out to Remus, try to learn more about the Ministry's stand on different creatures. I recall there being a rating of some sort, measuring the lethality or danger of a given creature. If the Ministry apprehends me… should I run? That'll make me look guilty of some crime, but I can't let them discover my more dangerous qualities. Such a pain…

Harry returned to the castle and went to the common room. He listened carefully for chatter inside.

"… you know why the new password is 'Balderdash'?"

Harry smirked and looked at the Fat Lady.

"Balderdash."

"Lucky," she said, and swung aside.

Harry entered, and as he did, everything went quiet. People stared at him with fear and apprehension. Even Kris from the train. Harry was stone-faced as he crossed the common room, and people scurried out of his way. He went up the stairs to the third–year boys' dorm, and entered. Everyone in there was quiet as well, Seamus Finnigan looking much quieter than his usually boisterous self, and Neville seemed much quieter than he usually was. Harry accepted that he was now well and truly alone, once again. He knew Ron sent him saddened glances, but he ignored it and went to bed.

•••

The first while at Hogwarts was uneventful. No one wanted to have anything to do with him, except Hermione, but between him and the Weasleys, he didn't see her very often. Their new teacher, Moody, had taught them about the Unforgivable Curses, and Harry realised that it was the Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra, which had killed his parents. Moody had even explicitly said so, saying that only one person had ever survived it, and that that person sat in the corner of the room. Which was exactly where Harry had seated himself. He also noticed that Moody's odd eye seemed to have the ability to see through solid objects.

Then came late October, and a notice detailing the arrival of the other schools was posted on noticeboards around the school. They would arrive on October 30th, and the participants would be announced October 31st.

Which led to October 30th, with Harry sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table, by himself. There was at least two metres to the nearest student, a fifth–year girl who seemed to be uncomfortable sitting so close to him. Harry recognised her as Katie Bell, from the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She kept sending nervous glances his way, but he merely sat slouched, leant over the table, and his chin resting in the palm of his hand. He was getting tired of waiting to go outside to greet the other schools. He just wanted to go back to the library and read up on the Ministry's history of creature classifications, as well as reading about various dark creatures. He was trying to pick one to use as his cover in case he was ever asked under some sort of truth spell or potion, like Veritaserum. He had found a recipe for an antidote, which he now kept in a small vial tied on a leather string under his shirt. Only four or five drops, which should be enough to make him immune to Veritaserum for ten to thirty minutes, or negate its effects once ingested. It had been very difficult to find and brew, but it had paid off in Harry's mind.

Soon, the students were ordered out and to stand in their respective houses and years. Harry stood a distance away from everyone else, leant up against a tree. He noticed professor McGonagall march towards him.

"Is something wrong, Potter?" she asked sternly, but Harry detected the concern for him she held. She was his teacher and Head of House, after all.

"Ever since the article posted in the Daily Prophet in mid–August, everyone's wanted to be as far from me as possible," he shrugged and looked towards the sky. "I'd rather not make them any more uncomfortable than absolutely required."

McGonagall nodded gravely.

"I read it. Is it…"

"True? Yeah, it is. But my immediate concern wasn't taking lives. It was saving them."

McGonagall nodded again, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, a much warmer gesture than most students received from her.

"That is why I think you're still a good person, Harry," she said, uncharacteristically warm, with a far more uncharacteristic smile. "As long as it is for the good of those who can't protect themselves, I will never fear what you do."

Harry smiled weakly, and nodded. With that, McGonagall walked away to join the other teachers, who were standing gathered behind Dumbledore. She whispered something in the headmaster's ear, and he looked at Harry. He then winked, and Harry returned it with a smirk.

Soon, the large horse drawn carriage of the Beauxbatons Academy came soaring through the sky, and landed on the ground. In Harry's mind, the students seemed pathetic and weak. They trembled and shivered, wearing mostly silk. One of them, though, caught Harry's eye, and, he noticed, the eye of every other boy there. A woman, hair like flowing silver, yet still vaguely blond, and eyes as blue as the noon sky. Harry felt his heart start beating quicker and quicker, and soon, to his despair, he felt something else.

He was becoming aroused, and the wolf inside him slammed roughly against the cage he locked it in, trying desperately to get out and jump her. Harry wasn't 'pitching a tent', as it were, but he felt the hand he held inside his cloak itch and ache, as his fingers elongated and grew hair and claws. He felt his anger rise to the surface, and his vision was slowly bleeding red at the edges. His gums were starting to ache as well, and he could feel his eyes turning yellow. Harry then felt a burning pain in his chest and gut.

LET ME OUT! LET ME POUNCE HER, LET ME–

NO! STAY! YOU WILL NEVER GET OUT UNLESS I SAY SO!

It was the Beast, the horrible, predatory instincts of the vampire, enhanced only by his innate Rage as a werewolf. It didn't have an actual voice in his head; that was a mental affliction brought on by his subconscious over the course of the years since he became what he was, making Harry more easily distracted. Harry grimaced at the pain, and started walking back towards the castle. Everyone looked after him as he did, and when he passed Dumbledore, the old wizard saw the yellow, predatory eyes of Harry's less accepted form. He nodded seriously, and Harry started running. Once he entered the castle, his hold on his instincts weakened, and his right leg cramped up as it shifted, bones and muscle painfully rearranging themselves to fit the form of the Crinos. Normally, his transformations were smooth, quick, and painless. But after the voice had started making him transform, they had become excruciatingly painful when he tried to resist them.

Harry kept limping on his one good leg as his left arm turned as well, tearing the sleeve of his uniform. He roared in pain and kept limping. He made it to the seventh floor, but instead of going to the Gryffindor Tower, he headed the other way. Towards the Room of Requirement. Harry fell to the floor, hitting his head roughly against the stone as he did so, and his vision went blurry. His other leg started transforming as well. Using one good arm remaining, he dragged himself the rest of the distance to the Room, which manifested a door for him. He threw himself up to open the door, and fell inside. The door slammed after him, and the door vanished, both inside and outside. He needed to be unable to leave the room until he could control himself again.

Inside was pitch black, and no one would ever hear the agonised screams and roars, which soon turned into howls and real, werewolf roars.

•••

He had burnt the torn clothes, and as the darkness of the Room of Requirement was incredibly deep, and nothing could be heard or smelt in there, his instincts had quickly died down again. The room had brightened after he was back in human form, and provided him with a shower. He had summoned a new uniform from his dorm, and joined the feast half an hour later, showered and dressed in new clothes.

People were looking at him strangely, and with extreme fear, but he ignored them. They likely thought he was losing control of his bloodlust or something, which was only partially true. But that woman… she must have been special. She definitely wasn't completely human. He closed his eyes and mentally browsed some of the books on creatures he had read. He remembered the entry on Veelas.

Damn it. I need to test it, see if I can control it.

Harry carefully lifted his head slightly over the masses of heads and scouted cautiously for the Beauxbatons girl. He saw her, seated at the Ravenclaw table. She turned her head to talk to someone sitting beside her, and Harry clearly saw her face. He definitely felt the inner beast stir, but nothing remotely uncontrollable. This time. But Harry had to admit, she was absolutely gorgeous. He sat back down normally and ate... a lot. Transformations always took a lot out of him, and increased his appetite for a while after, as well as his libido. It was one of the things he hated most about assuming the form of the Crinos, the warform of the Garou, werewolves as he knew them.

Once the feast was done, Dumbledore revealed the Goblet of Fire, Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, made an appearance as he would be one of the judges, as well as having been one of the revivors of the tournament, along with Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Dumbledore then explained of the rule about students having to be seventeen years of age to be able to participate. He then quickly sent the student body to bed. Harry did manage to catch a glimpse of a half–giant woman named Olympe Maxime, the headmistress of Académie de Magie Beauxbâtons, or 'Beauxbatons Academy of Magic', and Igor Karkaroff, the headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute and former Death Eater. Harry did feel his blood boil a little when he saw the man, though the report had made him anticipate that. It was no less infuriating to see the man sitting there so casually, drinking wine and eating a fine meal.

He should be six feet underground.

Harry pushed down the venomous thoughts of torture he would like to expose Karkaroff to, hoping that he would have the chance to live them out at some point. When the students were sent to bed, Harry caught Dumbledore throw a glance to the outside, then back at Harry, who understood the message. Harry walked outside and waited in the shadow under the roof of the courtyard outside. Dumbledore joined him after the Beauxbatons flock Durmstrang pack had passed by, none of them seeing Harry, obscured by the darkness. Harry let the wolf shine yellow through his eyes, and Dumbledore calmly approached the young man.

"What happened, Harry?" he asked calmly.

"I lost control, Headmaster," he admitted.

"How?"

"That Beauxbatons girl, the one that's part Veela. I–" he began, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"You lost control because of her charm? Your… lust for her?"

"Yes. It won't happen again. I spent the feast ascertaining just how much she affects me. It was just very sudden before. It won't happen again, Headmaster."

Dumbledore looked out into the night thoughtfully.

"Had you merely been human, I would have told you that it's natural for a young boy of your age," the elderly began. "But for you, it's too dangerous to lose control. I read the issue of the Daily Prophet with your… article in it. I can't have an article about that happening here. It would ruin the school."

"And it's not just because you want to stay headmaster?" Harry jabbed jokingly.

"I would be fine with being resigned as headmaster, so long as a suitable candidate took my stead," Dumbledore smiled at Harry. "But Hogwarts, despite its glowing reputation, has a bloody past. Too many students have died here, and I wonder if allowing a werewolf who loses control would make the Board of Directors decide to close the school for good. They came close to that decision two years ago, when the basilisk was petrifying students. I was suspended during that time, and I would have been fine if they fired me, if they would allow me to return to help find and kill the serpent."

Harry listened to Dumbledore, not only his words, but his heartbeat as well. Not a single irregularity in rhythm which would reveal him to be lying, merely nervousness when he had mentioned losing control over the part–Veela. Harry smiled.

"I've never met a man as honest and great as you," Harry admitted. "And I don't think I ever will once you're gone."

Dumbledore frowned.

"You're nearing the winter years of your life," Harry stated with a shrug. "It might be another fifty, or even hundred years, but one day, you'll pass on, and leave the school behind. And I doubt it will ever have a headmaster as devoted to it as you are."

Dumbledore smiled and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder as the elderly man guided Harry inside.

"I appreciate your honesty, and flattery, Harry. I hope to at least be there to watch you grow into a splendid man, whatever road you choose. You're not a bad person. You're a very good person, who has been fostered in a bad situation. You may carry on killing and hurting people for the rest of your life, but I doubt you will ever harm an innocent person. At least, not if you can help it. And that is why I will never see you as evil. You are no Voldemort waiting to happen. You feel friendship, you feel love, you can empathise, Harry. All traits Voldemort could never imagine possessing."

Harry didn't respond to that. The pair walked up to the floor where Dumbledore's office was, and then parted. Harry went back to his dorm, only to find the same as usual; no one daring to look directly at him, or stand in his way.

The Tournament Begins

Harry woke up early, at least around three in the morning, and put on his exercise clothes: a pair of sneakers, a pair of jogging pants, and a black, tight–fitted undershirt. He then went downstairs and out into the fresh morning air of Scotland in October 31st. The results of the Goblet of Fire were to be revealed that evening, and Harry had been having bad premonitions about it. He had seen a scorched piece of paper with his name on it. A blue flame and haunting, ghostly wails had marred his dreams, and woken him up.

When Harry came outside, he saw that a few of the Durmstrang boys were out running around the lake, like he had been intending to do. He sighed and began his stretches. He was soon running himself, and he soon caught up with the Durmstrang boys, before passing them. Some of them seemed extremely impressed that he practically sprinted past them, around the lake, and past them one more time before some of them stopped and headed back to their ship. Harry kept running and running. Soon, the morning sun climbed over the horizon, and Harry checked his watch, which read that it was almost seven. He kept running, even as Durmstrang boys (and strangely a single girl) and Beauxbatons students (which were, also strangely, nearly female exclusive, save for around five boys) left their ship and carriage to have breakfast in the great hall. In particular, Harry noticed the girl who had caused him to rage and transform staring at him with some measure of interest as he passed by. She smirked a little, apparently liking what she saw.

Indeed, Harry supposed that he was rather attractive. Whilst he had been away for his first year at Hogwarts, Meerlinda told him, she had found the mage who had dilated time, and had him turn it down even more. Harry asked why, when he returned. Apparently, the ritual which had caused him to gain vampiric and lycanthropic qualities had also bestowed him with the side–effect of the slow aging of ghouls, brought to an extreme. She took a picture of him with a camera she had bought a few years prior to photograph him like other parents did. It had been a completely misguided effort, as both she and Harry had come to terms with, but she had showed him a picture of him from 1989. And he had looked identical to himself in 1993, before he left for Hogwarts, and then from 1993 to when he returned in 1994. He had aged slower than what he should have. So, the summer had been more akin to fifteen years to him, and the dilation had been off again. He seemed more like sixteen years old now, rather than fourteen. It was a problem, a real problem.

He was also pretty confused that none of the Weasleys or Hermione had pointed it out to him before. He'd even grown a beard stubble.

So, in summary; I look almost legal, I'm pretty good–looking, and I've got muscles like a Greek god. Why does humanity have to be so damn difficult and fickle?

As he reached the old tree, the one with entirely flat bark at his chest height, he began his kicking and punching routine again. Almost an hour went by as he punched, kicked, got down to do push–ups, crunches and squats, then followed by punching again. He was becoming incredibly sore, the lactic acid in his bloodstream making it really difficult to keep at it. The other schools' students came back out, and were astonished by him. Some of them gathered a distance away and merely stared at him. After almost ten minutes of it, Harry lost his cool.

"WHAT!?" he turned and shouted, sweating, heaving and panting, knuckles bloodied and his shins and feet feeling utterly blasted. "YOU ENTERTAINED!?"

His eyes were wild, and then he saw her standing in the front of the crowd, her face somewhat confused and scared. And then Harry realized how he must look, a look which could be surmised with one term: wife–beater. Harry – eyes wild, breathing laboured, sweat pouring down his face and arms, soaking his shirt, and knuckles bruised and bloody – knew he looked like a psychopath to them. He closed his eyes took deep breaths as some of the students gathered hurried off, though a number still remained, including the girl who had made him transform. Once he had calmed down and his breathing was normal, he looked back at the remaining students.

"Sorry. Welcome to Hogwarts," he said before he started walking back towards the castle.

"Wait," one called with a very French accent.

He stopped and turned to see the girl.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Harry Potter," he said calmly. "You?"

"Fleur Delacour," she replied, and Harry caught her eyes flitting to his chest, arms, and definitely his crotch, before meeting his eyes again.

"Charmé," Harry said, internally smirking at the joke.

He then headed back towards the castle, leaving Fleur with a slightly impressed facial expression; he had pronounced it just like a Frenchman would.

•••

Harry came down to the Hallowe'en feast, eager to get something to eat. He saw the girl, Fleur, glance at him before she sat down at the Ravenclaw table. And throughout the feast, she kept sending him glances. Harry ate a lot very quickly, but due to his lessons in etiquette, never spilled or seemed rude as he ate. Just very, very quickly. The Beast had raged within him all day, and he hadn't dared leave the Room of Requirement until it was evening. He had been inside, letting out his anger and sexual frustrations through violence on chairs, desks and bookshelves conjured by the room. Punched, kicked, bitten, scratched. He had destroyed them in every fashion possible. He realised that he had kept a tight leash on his Beast and Rage for what was essentially around ten to fifteen years. He just had to let it rage for a few hours, and indeed, after he had spent seven hours in there, he felt completely calm and composed, and even felt practically no tug at his Beast when he saw Fleur that evening, though he still felt tugs at his hormones and male sexuality coming to the forefront of his mind. He was still, after all, a teenage werewolf with powerful instincts and urges. He decided to let his Beast rage in the Room of Requirement every weekend from then on.

Once the feast was over, Harry felt stuffed and satisfied. He caught Fleur look at him with a measure of… something. It seemed like a mixture of being disgusted (likely by the amount of food), confused (as to how there was space for it), impressed (that it could happen) and… something fourth he couldn't place a finger on.

I would say hungry, but that isn't quite… oh.

He turned his focus back to Dumbledore and the Goblet. Dumbledore took the stage and spoke to the crowd.

"Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" — he indicated the door behind the staff table — "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting. A few people kept checking their watches.

The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it — the whole room gasped. Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a strong, clear voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

"No surprises there!" yelled Ron as a storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Harry saw Viktor Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

"Bravo, Viktor!" boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. "Knew you had it in you!"

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone's attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," said Dumbledore, "is Fleur Delacour!"

Harry watched the girl gracefully get to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. She sent him a small wink, and a few of the boys from his table, sitting a distance away from him, looked at him like he was a crazy psychopath. Which in fairness, in contrast to the well–adjusted mind, he almost certainly was. Harry looked at the Ravenclaw table, looking at the Beauxbatons students' reactions. Two of the girls who had not been selected had dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms.

When Fleur Delacour too had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion was next. And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

"The Hogwarts champion," he called, "is Cedric Diggory!"

Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —"

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him. The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment. Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore. And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out —

"Harry Potter."

Every eye turned to the so–named boy, who was staring at Dumbledore with an expression saying 'you have got to be fucking shitting me, or I will shoot someone'. Truly, his head was one filled with words of wisdom. Giving in, he sighed deeply, and got up in a manner which seemed to suggest he really did not want to bother with it. As he passed the wooden goblet on the wooden box, he stopped and stared at it. He was seriously considering kicking it, hoping it would spit out a letter of apology for making such a gigantic screw–up, and stating the withdrawal of his participance. He left it, as he would rather not have to deal with Crouch trying to curse him for assaulting an ancient, magical artefact. He kept moving and walked past Dumbledore.

"I didn't put my name in it, Headmaster," Harry muttered, and Dumbledore nodded.

"Just go down, we will be there in but a few moments."

Harry nodded, and walked down the stairs to the trophy room. He didn't feel particularly angry. More like 'heavily irritated', with a dash of 'don't wanna deal with this shit'. He entered the room, and saw the other champions, Fleur, Krum and Cedric, standing by the fire as a group. Harry walked over to a chair and sat down, leant back, and sighed heavily. He then placed his hands on his face and started rubbing it. Cedric was the first to see him.

"They want us back in the hall?" he asked somewhat innocently.

"Nope, quite the contrary," Harry said with a somewhat sarcastic tone, even if he truly meant it. "Goblet fucked up."

"How?"

"I'm the fourth champion. Just my fucking luck."

The other three were all astonished.

"But… zere's only supposed to be zree," Fleur said suspiciously, her eyes roaming Harry.

"I knoooow," Harry drew out the word, "and I hate it."

"You don't vant to participate?" Krum asked, suspicious as well.

"No thanks, I'd prefer not to expend more energy than I have to. I don't have any extracurricular activities, and I like it that way."

"You sure seem to like running," Fleur countered throatily.

"Because I have a weak heart," Harry lied through his teeth. "If I don't exercise, it'll eventually weaken so much that it'll stop working altogether, and I'll die a slow, painful death. So, I'd rather jog than play Quidditch or chess, thank you very much."

All three of them seemed shocked by the fake story, particularly Fleur.

"I'm lying," he finally stated. "I like running, and I want more time to keep running."

Out of all of them, Cedric seemed the most relieved, though. He was a Hufflepuff through and through, that one.

"Christ, you're bad at spotting lies," Harry muttered and closed his eyes as he kicked the chair back so that he leant against the wall.

"Why would you lie, anyway?" Cedric asked.

"To conceal the truth," Harry deadpanned. "You know, the very definition of lying? And because I'm a human who has ambitions in the world. And honesty doesn't get you far in politics."

"Everyone should be honest," Cedric countered, slightly offended. "And politicians are honest."

"If you believe that, you're as much a fool as people think you're a genius," Harry said calmly. "Every politician has lied at one point or another, and people lie every day. Practically every 'civilised' society is based and built on lies. You'll get nowhere with your naivety."

"Harry, that's enough," Dumbledore calmly said.

"Right."

Dumbledore was followed by the other headmasters, Bagman, Crouch, Snape, McGonagall and Moody. They made their way into the trophy room, and the headmasters and champions of the other schools paired up and stood a small distance away from the rest of the posse.

"Extraordinary!" Bagman muttered. "Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen… lady," he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. "May I introduce — incredible though it may seem — the fourth Triwizard champion?"

"I already told them," Harry commented. "So sorry I spoiled your dramatic entrance, Bagman."

"Harry, would please just be polite?" Dumbledore asked courteously.

Harry looked at his mentor for a few seconds, then let the chair fall to all four legs and stood up straight. Dumbledore nodded, and gestured for Bagman to continue.

"Of course," he said, a little put off by Harry's attitude, "this is quite a unique situation. This should not have happened, but it did! Frankly, I'm a little excited."

"I'm not," Harry said. "Get me out of this 'unique situation,' now."

"Harry."

"Sorry."

"Anyway, there's no way to rescind a participation slip. Once you've thrown it in, there's no backing out."

Harry looked at Dumbledore.

"May I speak?"

"Be my guest."

He then turned to Bagman.

"But I didn't put my name in. I haven't been anywhere near the goblet, and I'm only fourteen," everyone in the room except the Hogwarts professors frowned strongly. "Will my participation be annulled if I break the goblet?"

"Harry!" Dumbledore exclaimed.

"I'm, sorry," Harry exclaimed loudly, making very clear pauses between certain words, "but I really, don't, want, to be in this, stupid, tournament! Will I be excluded if I break the goblet!?"

"No, you won't," Crouch sternly said. "And you will not break the goblet. I will have you sent to Azkaban if you even dare try."

Eyes were turned to the elderly man suggesting sending a fourteen–year–old to Azkaban prison.

"I still haven't forgiven you for the World Cup," he said firmly, eyes boring into Harry's, "and you've made a fool of the Ministry, which was all over the news. A whole team has been established in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to decide what your crime was and how to punish you for it, and no one can reach a consensus, since you're fourteen years old!"

"What is zis about ze World Cup?" Maxime interjected.

"This 'boy' killed five grown men singlehandedly in cold blood," Crouch said, his eyes never leaving said boy as he withdrew a newspaper and threw it at Maxime's feet.

Fleur picked it up first and read the page it was folded to, and gasped with wide eyes as she read it. She then handed it to Maxime, who grew pale after she had read it.

"What is this nonsense," Karkaroff said, and walked over to look at the paper. "Surely it can't be…" but he had to eat his words as he saw the picture of the boy, surrounded by corpses, handling a bloodied knife and covered in blood and dirt.

Harry's face grew cold and sullen, his eyes dead and apathetic.

"And so what if I did?" he countered. "I fixed a bad situation."

"Killing them was not the right measure to take!" Crouch exclaimed.

"I don't treat the symptoms of a disease, Mr Crouch!" Harry exclaimed just as loudly. "I eliminate the disease! That you feigned remorse and guilt, and withdrew the law you had passed to allow the Unforgivable Curses on Death Eaters during the first war in order to become minister was the wrong move! If you hadn't, then maybe there wouldn't have been an incident at the World Cup!"

"Those weren't Death Eaters, they we–"

"YES, THEY WERE!" Harry shouted, and then stormed over to Karkaroff. He violently grabbed the man's left arm and pulled up his sleeve to reveal the Dark Mark etched into his skin there. "TWO OF THEM BORE THIS MARK!"

Harry was pushed away by Karkaroff.

"YOU LET HIM GO!" Harry screamed and pointed at Karkaroff. "ALL FOR THE UNIMPORTANT NOBODIES ON THE LOWEST PART OF THE FOOD CHAIN!"

Harry stormed over to Crouch and stared him right into his eyes.

"AND IF YOU HAD BEEN BETTER AT YOUR JOB, MY PARENTS MIGHT STILL BE ALIVE!"

With that, Harry roughly shoved the older man, who stumbled and fell to the floor.

"HARRY!" Dumbledore called, but Harry was too far gone.

"JAMES AND LILY POTTER MIGHT STILL BE ALIVE IF YOU HAD BEEN BETTER AT YOUR JOB! VOLDEMORT MIGHT HAVE BEEN TAKEN DOWN FOR GOOD! YOU MIGHT HAVE SPARED ME THREE HUNDRED YEARS OF TRAINING, PREPARING, DESENSITISING MYSELF TO MURDER, THAT I MAY ONE DAY GET REVENGE! I BECAME A FUCKING MONSTER, BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T KEEP YOUR FUCKING SHIT TOGETHER!"

No one in the room dared talk back, as Harry's eyes glowed yellow, his hands had become claws, and he was huffing and puffing and spitting as he shouted.

"I AM THIS BEAST, BECAUSE OF YOU! BECAUSE OF YOUR INCOMPETENCE! AND YOU FUCKING DARE BLAME ME FOR DOING WHAT I'VE SPENT MY ENTIRE LIFE TRAINING TO DO: KILL VOLDEMORT AND THOSE WHO SUPPORT HIM! I WILL DESTROY THE DEATH EATERS, AND I WILL DESTROY VOLDEMORT! AND IF YOU DARE TRY AND GET IN MY WAY AGAIN, I WILL NOT HESITATE TO RIP OUT YOUR THROAT WITH MY TEETH, BECAUSE I HAVE DONE FAR WORSE TO FAR BETTER PEOPLE!"

Harry was heaving and sweating profusely. His hands slowly reverted to normal, and his eyes stopped glowing.

"Don't keep me from my goal, old man," he said wearily, his partial transformation and nigh–frenzied rage draining him of energy. "If you do… I will show you things worse than death, as I will your son."

Crouch's eyes widened, as did Dumbledore's and Bagman's. Harry noticed Moody flinch.

"What?" Crouch breathed out.

"You broke out your son of Azkaban, didn't you?" Harry asked, still short of breath. "Your wife was devastated by you sending your son to prison, wasn't she? She was near–death, stricken with grief, so you gave her Polyjuice potion to look like your son, and then snuck your son out in her disguise, didn't you?"

"What?"

"It's a well–known fact that dementors can't see," Harry explained. "You just had to fool the guards at the entrance, and since your son left in approximately the same condition your wife entered in… it would make sense. Where is he, Bartemius? Where is Bartemius Crouch Junior? Because if you cross me again," Harry's breathing calmed down, his eyes started glowing again, and his face became as cold as ice as he squatted down next to the old man, "I will find him, and I will show him his insides before your very eyes."

No one dared say anything. Harry turned towards the door, but Snape blocked his way with his arm.

"I'm in a spectacularly foul mood, professor," Harry said coldly. "I will break your arm to get through."

"Severus," Dumbledore said weakly.

Snape looked at Dumbledore suspiciously, then lowered his arm.

"Harry, go to my office. I will be there as soon as I am through here."

Harry didn't give any sign that he had heard it, but Dumbledore knew he had, and that he would do as told. Once Harry had left, he turned to the gathering.

"I apologise on Harry's behalf…" Dumbledore said, but quieted. "And, on my own."

He drew his wand.

"I am sorry, but none of you may leave this room until you have had your memories modified."

McGonagall, Snape, and Moody also drew theirs. None of them liked the situation, but they realised Albus must have had extremely good reasons for such extreme measures. They all raised their wands on their guests.

"Obliviate."

•••

Harry was sitting in the lone chair in front of the headmaster's desk, with Fawkes the phoenix sitting on his shoulder. Dumbledore had been giving Harry irregular lessons during the previous year, where Dumbledore explained to Harry everything about the Wizarding War, the war with Grindelwald, about Voldemort. About practically everything of note to the current situation. Fawkes had taken a liking to him, and now, Fawkes was sitting on his arm, which rested on the armrest, singing a phoenix's song. Harry was amazed by how deeply the song touched him, and couldn't help the thick tears streaming down his face as he smiled sadly at the beautiful bird. He then gently stroked the bird's head, eliciting a small, joyous sound, which made Harry utter a noise somewhere between a sob and a chuckle. Fawkes was such a gentle companion, and seemed to truly understand Harry's emotions, even as he shouldn't be able to understand what the near–human said.

The door to the office opened softly, and the Hogwarts professors from the trophy room entered. Harry didn't move, and his eyes didn't leave Fawkes.

"Their memories have been obliviated, and replaced," Dumbledore said as he walked over and sat in his chair. "They don't remember anything other than a good explanation for what happened."

Harry didn't respond.

"Harry, this is the second time in as many days as you have nearly lost control," Dumbledore stated. "You're dangerous. If you can't keep control, I will have no choice but to lock you away until the tasks."

"You're not going to cage me," Harry said hoarsely, his voice strained from all the shouting at the top of his lungs. "I'll leave if you try."

"Harry, you have shown behaviour that makes you a dangerous liability to this school's students. I can't place you above your schoolmates. Not now."

Harry looked up at him.

"What do you mean 'now?"

Dumbledore was silent.

"If you're keeping secrets from me, secrets regarding me, I will be furious."

Dumbledore seemed to contemplate his options. He looked at the other professors, and gestured for them to step outside, which they respectfully did.

"There is a prophecy about you. You, and your connection to Voldemort."

Harry was silent and glared daggers at Dumbledore, silently prompting him to go on.

"'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...'"

Harry was quiet.

"Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives?" he asked. "So one of us will have to kill the other."

"Yes."

"But there's more, isn't there? Something else you're not telling me."

Dumbledore fell silent once more, and Harry could read in his face that he was pained. Emotionally.

"Voldemort is… immortal."

"He can be killed," Harry said. "Any immortal creature which was once normal can be killed."

"I suspect… that he has created some objects. Objects of power. Ones that secure his life. I can't be certain."

"So I'll find them and destroy them."

"I suspect one has already been destroyed," Dumbledore said and opened a drawer, from which he retrieved an old diary with a hole in it.

Harry recognised it immediately. He had seen it in Ginny's memory of the Chamber of Secrets.

"Voldemort's diary."

"Yes. I suspect it held a fragment of Voldemort's soul. It is very ancient, very powerful, and extremely dark magic. Such an item is called a horcrux. As long as it exists, it the creator is still bound to this world, even if their body is destroyed. I suspect this is what Voldemort did, and the incident with Quirinus Quirrell already proves that he has returned, or at the very least never went very close towards Death's door."

Harry nodded.

"I'll share all I know of this matter with you, but you must control yourself," Dumbledore stressed. "I will tell you everything, I will help you with anything, but you must. Control. Yourself."

Harry nodded slightly. Dumbledore nodded as well.

"You may enter again," he called, and soon, the other professors were back inside the office. "Now that you have seen Harry's darker side, I feel compelled to tell you the rest. Harry," Dumbledore stared into the boy's eyes, "you may leave."

Harry nodded and did as he was asked. When he was out, Snape was the first to talk.

"So… the boy is – a werewolf."

"Not entirely," Dumbledore professed. "He is still fundamentally human, but he has undergone magical ceremonies and experiments to impart him with the qualities of werewolves, all but a very diluted enslavement to the full moon."

"And he is having trouble controlling himself, is he?" Moody asked.

"Yes, he is. I promise, he's usually a courteous and polite boy. I suspect other forces are at work, ones that have served to put him on edge. And to be honest, I think Harry realised this before I did."

"You think someone sabotaged the tournament," Snape stated.

"Yes, indeed I do, Severus."

"That's preposterous! No one would be brazen enough to infiltrate Hogwarts!"

"Eh, Death Eaters have done crazier," Moody said in his rough voice. "They're not to be underestimated. Lost my eye and nose to one."

"Which means that we cannot be certain of anything," Dumbledore continued.

"I suggest that we might… let things – play out," Snape uttered.

"And let Potter remain in harm's way!?"

"He is no stranger to lethal force," Dumbledore said. "He has been the target of assassinations since he was too young to speak. Not only by Death Eaters, but other forces as well."

"Such as?" Snape inquired.

"Harry tells me his guardian, his 'mistress', is a vampire, and she has made many enemies over her centuries of life. She has guided and taught Harry how to kill and manipulate people. She has also had experts in various fields useful for assassination brought in to teach him their crafts. The place they live in has been enchanted quite powerfully, and as such, time passes much faster in there, allowing Harry to learn in a year what it takes others a lifetime to master. He is, without a doubt, the most dangerous person on this school's grounds. Of that, there is no doubt in my mind. Has he not shown a particular aptitude for poisons and antidotes in Potions, Severus?"

Snape seemed reluctant to admit it, but he did.

"He has. When he forgets other, more miscellaneous and varied potions, he memorises poisons, their antidotes, and has even discovered improvements to already existing poisons. Frankly, it did frighten me, a little."

"And Alastor," Dumbledore focused on the DADA teacher, "is he not more than competent in your classes?"

"The boy is a true genius," Moody said. "He wasn't even moved when I cast the Imperious Cure on him, and he only flinched when he asked me to try the Cruciatus Curse, too. His reflexes are sharper than any I've ever seen, and he draws his wand at least fifteen times faster than any other in the class, or the classes above him. But I think his senses are his greatest tools."

"His senses?" McGonagall asked.

"One day, while the class was chatting before the start of class, I was observing him from my office. I dropped a needle on the stone floor, and as it landed, his ear twitched, and he looked towards my door. No human could ever have heard that. He seems to have acute awareness and constant vigilance of his surroundings at all times as well, because one day after class, I threw a jinx at him."

"Alastor!" McGonagall was about to throw a fit, but Alastor's next words stopped her.

"He stepped out of the way just as I was casting the spell, Minerva. He felt that something was coming his way, he reacted to it before it had been fully done. That is an instinct I have never witnessed in a human being before, but since he isn't entirely human, it makes sense now."

"Exactly. So, I agree with Severus. For now, we let it play out."

•••

The professors walked out the door, and each headed to their sleeping quarters. Moody's metal foot clanged at every step until he reached his own quarters. After he entered, he heard the door close behind him, unassisted. He whirled around, wand ready to unleash a hex to blast whatever fool ambushing him into the next century, but there was no one.

"Did you really think I would be foolish enough to alert you to my real location, 'professor Moody'?" a dark, cold voice rang out in the silent, stone–walled room.

"Who's there?" he asked cautiously, his eye rolling around his head, looking for the intruder. He was stumped to find no one, even with his magical eye.

"The one you're trying to kill," the voice replied. "Or should I say, trying to make me win the Tournament?"

Moody let out a deep, dark chuckle.

"So. You figured it out," he growled menacingly. "I'll admit, you always put me on edge, Potter."

"I knew you would reveal yourself, eventually," the disembodied voice said. "Did you honestly think that, with my sense of hearing, my sense of smell wouldn't be enhanced as well? I knew from the first moment you opened that flask that you weren't Alastor Moody. I'd be able to smell Polyjuice potion anywhere."

"So why don't you come out and face me, like a real man?"

"Because that isn't exactly my style. However, I will attack you. Sometime. Maybe. Guess we'll see."

"You like playing games, Potter?" Moody muttered. He then twirled around and swung his wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

A green lightning shot out of his wand and disappeared when it struck the wall.

"Missed me."

'Moody' twirled around again, and Harry was standing right in front of him. His hand slammed the wand out of the imposter's, and he grabbed the man by the throat, his superhuman strength easily overpowering the human and forcing him to sit in a chair. Harry looked into 'Moody's' good eye intently, and the older wizard felt calm, and a commanding voice resounded in his head, one he felt he had to follow.

"Tell me what you're planning."

A Moment of Peace

Harry walked down to the great hall to have breakfast. He had already jogged and showered, and it was Saturday, so he had the day all to himself. He had started exercising earlier in the morning, seeing as he'd rather avoid the Durmstrang boys. It wasn't a bias against them, he just preferred being nowhere near other people when he trained. He sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table as he had gotten used to since no one would talk to him anymore. Hermione still talked to him once in a while, and Harry enjoyed it, but he told her to stick to Ron some more. He was in a bad place for the time being, and needed to be alone, so that he could sort it out. However, it seemed Fate had other plans form him.

As he ate his breakfast, a girl in blue robes sat down in front of him. He didn't need to look to know that it was Fleur. He would recognise her scent anywhere. It was sweet, flowery, and fresh, as always. A good scent. Finishing his current bite of scrambled eggs, he looked up and put down the utensils before he took a sip of his coffee.

"So, what brings you before me this morning?" Harry asked in perfect French, and placed his chin on his intertwined hands, elbows resting on the table.

"I'm surprised you speak French," Fleur said. "Not many Englishmen do."

"I'm not your typical Englishman," Harry replied. "I'm a wizard, from a long and ancient line of pure–blooded wizards and witches of great accomplishments. Until my father married my muggleborn mother, and they had me. Ask any muggle Englishman what wizard he descends from, and he'll be too occupied trying to understand your words to understand what you asked. Or maybe you find that attractive about me?"

She smiled lightly at the jab, and he smirked.

"Well, you are definitely attractive," Fleur said. "You're handsome, clever, strong," she looked at his muscled arms, visible due to his t–shirt. "Any woman would be attracted to you."

"Hmm, not many at Hogwarts are," he said and took another sip of coffee.

"Why not?" she asked with a frown.

"Because, my dear Fleur, I am a womaniser who runs around breaking hearts and destroying dreams."

Fleur openly giggled.

"Really?"

"No, because I murdered five people, and it was all over the British Wizarding news in mid–August," Harry said with a smile.

Fleur started laughing, obviously believing he was being sarcastic.

"No, I mean it," Harry said, chuckling himself. "I did murder five people this summer."

The girl's laughter slowly died down, until she looked at him nervously.

"Accio," Harry muttered, and sat, waiting.

After a minute or two, a rolled–up mid–August edition of the Daily Prophet rested in his outstretched hand. He then unrolled it and laid the page in front of Fleur, openly showing her the picture of him covered in the Death Eaters' blood, holding his trusty bayonet. Fleur's eyes widened as she read the article, and looked at the picture.

"In my defence, they were torturing and murdering innocent civilians," Harry said softly. "I just decided to contain the casualties."

Fleur's eyes shot up to meet his, and the moment she did, she had lost.

"Don't be scared," he said with a certain command or authority in his voice, his eyes boring into hers. "Just relax. I'm perfectly calm, and I would never hurt you."

Her breathing instantly slowed, deepened, and she calmed down. She studied him thoroughly.

"How did you do that?"

"I have a certain ability to sway others and their emotions," Harry stated as he kept eating his breakfast. "Just like you. Albeit, mine is far stronger and far more versatile."

"You noticed."

"That you're part Veela? Yes, I did. No woman without any kind of magical or supernatural assistance could elicit such a powerful reaction out of me."

She smirked devilishly.

"You mean I affected you?"

"You absolutely did," Harry confirmed shamelessly, and sipped his coffee again. "I could barely think straight. You just looked too damned amazing."

Fleur's eyelashes fluttered excessively for a second.

"Oh really?"

"But that was exactly what made me think that you weren't human, at least not entirely," Harry continued. "I have seen humanity's most beautiful women, and I have barely spared them more than a glance. But when I see a creature with a supernatural ability to charm others, I have a much harder time controlling myself. So thank you, for allowing me to know what you really are, and thereby build a resistance to it. You're still the most beautiful human I've ever seen, though."

"I'm flattered. But then, what are you?"

"What'd you mean?"

"You speak of 'humanity' as if you're removed from it. You know what I am. What are you?"

Harry stared into her eyes, casually sipping his coffee.

"A werewolf."

"Really?" she asked sensually.

"Really."

"So you're a beast?"

"Some of the time."

"And in bed as well?"

Harry couldn't help the smile of suppressed laughter creeping up on his face.

"D'you want to find out?" he returned just as seductively.

"I don't know," she muttered and faked a small, thoughtful pout. "I'll think it over."

"Well, if you ever want to find out, you can usually find me in the library. Or at any of the meals. Or outside."

Fleur smiled brightly as she stood up.

"I think I like you, Harry Potter."

Harry watched her walk away, and didn't fail to notice the seductive sway in her hips, making him smile even more as his eyes fell on her derriere.

"I think I like you too, Fleur Delacour. Very much so."

•••

Harry spent the next two weeks preparing for the tournament's first task. The informants Meerlinda had placed in the Ministry were all somewhat low–ranking, so they didn't have access to that much information, but the one who was close to colleagues working on the Triwizard Tournament had been able to catch snippets here and there. One involved dragons, something about taking an item from under them. The second had something to do with the Black Lake, and the third was a labyrinth of some sort. He spent hours in the library, pouring over tomes on magical beasts and dragons, as well as different spellbooks and potions to counter infections from dragon's teeth and claws, their flames and to reduce impact of blunt–force trauma.

He was currently reading a book on dragons, and he heard the light, clacking steps of a female approaching from behind. He smelt the sweet, flowery scent he had come to highly crave, and he immediately knew who it was. Fleur sat down next to him without a word and pulled a book from the stack of unread ones, opened it at the table of contents, and picked a section.

"How are you?" she asked in French.

"I'm well. You?"

"Good."

"Good," he said, and then put down his book and turned to face her. "Are you sure you're not just hungry for my looks? I don't exactly have an award–winning personality."

She turned her head to look at him.

"You're interesting. But yes, you're definitely good–looking as well."

Harry was silent for a little, and they merely stared into each other's eyes, sapphire clashing against emerald.

"You know about the Yule Ball, I take it?"

"Of course."

"Will you attend the Ball with me?" he asked bluntly.

Fleur looked at him with fascination for a few moments.

"I'd love to."

"Great," Harry said and tapped the book she was holding. "Might want to brush up on your dragons. They'll be in the first task."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I like you," Harry said with a shrug. "I'd rather not see your gorgeous face singed off."

Fleur blushed with a small giggle, and placed her hand softly on Harry's, and used her fingers to gently stroke the back of his hand.

"I think we'll make fast friends, Harry."

Harry turned his hand around and started stroking her palm back, as a smile crept up on his face.

"I think we will."

With that, Harry stood from the table and picked up books to go and put them back in their right places on the shelves. As he finished, he found Fleur concentrated on reading the book she had picked up.

I don't think she's normally as flirty as this, being an adult, French witch. It may be my predatorial presence making her unable to completely control her libido, or it may have to do with her being a Veela. I'll have to research further.

Harry contemplated, then remembered the book under his arm, detailing various magical creatures. As he walked down the corridors and halls of the castle, he read the chapter on Veelas.

So, it's her 'time of the month', is it?

Apparently, Veelas underwent a certain period of time during the month where their urges and desires were enhanced. They were highly sensual and sexual creatures, seeing as their primary inherent ability lied in the attraction and 'enslavement' of men. Almost like succubi, but less rape–y and more seductive.

Her inherent nature, coupled with my appearance, multiplied by my animal magnetism… shit, there are bound to be flames. Though, I can't really say that I complain.

Harry walked in his own thoughts until he felt a presence to his left. A strange one. Not a human, not a vampire, werewolf, ghost or otherwise. Just something. He looked up, to see a door ajar, and inside he caught just a flash of brilliant, red hair. Not like Ginny's. He had seen that hair before, though. In pictures. Harry dropped the book and bolted through the door. He found himself in a spiralling staircase, and looked up. He caught the briefest of flashes of a woman, still with that red hair.

Harry stormed up the stairs, faster than he normally would. He took four steps at a time, eager to reach the top. He quickly did, and burst out into the Astronomy Tower. He looked out to the edge, where the railing was. And there, leaning against the rail, her form silhouetted by the red, setting sun, stood that woman. Harry took a slow step forwards, unable to conjure words to utter. His eyes were wide, and his breath caught in his throat. The woman turned around to face him, leaning up against the railing. She was so beautiful, so warm and kind. She had deep, emerald green eyes, and she smiled a smile which could brighten up the darkest reaches of space, and her emerald eyes glistened in the light. Harry's slow steps forward turned into a run as he charged to embrace the woman, something he had wanted his entire life. But just as he wrapped his arms around her, she disappeared. And Harry, having run as fast as he could, was sent flying over the railing.

It took him a moment to realise that the winds hadn't picked up. He was freefalling, and quickly approaching the grassy ground beneath him. Harry couldn't wrap his head around what was happening.

Am I… going to die? Here? Now? That seems… kinda anticlimactic. I haven't killed Voldemort yet.

His world slowed down as his body instinctively activated the vampire blood in his system and allowed his brain to process everything a thousand times faster. He felt like he was practically hanging still in mid–air. It was then that his mind refocused, honing into the powerful tool he had made it into over the course of three cerebral centuries.

I… I can't get out of this. I can't turn into a cloud of mist– Hell, I can't even turn into a bat! I don't have any powers to let me fly. If I transport myself away, I'll just strike the ground somewhere else. I can take a lot of punishment, but even Meerlinda would die from this fall. Shit! Think, Harry!

His eyes narrowed.

Harry Potter. You're famous in the wizarding world! Don't think like a sorcerer, think like a wizard! Broom? No, it wouldn't get here on time. I can't shoot myself upwards to break the fal–

Harry quickly pulled his wand out of his belt holster for it.

"Arresto Momentum!"

His descent started slowing down, and kept decreasing in speed, until he landed on the ground quite roughly, but alive. As he landed on his front, he felt his lungs being pierced by several sharp objects: his broken ribs. He was incredibly glad they hadn't punctured his heart as well, seeing as that could very well have been the end of him, though the situation he currently found himself in seemed to be one completely bereft of joy. He felt like his forehead had been cracked open, which it most likely had. His left arm had gone out to help break the fall, resulting in it being bent backwards, with the wrist and his right leg being similarly twisted. His nose had broken, and he had three cracked and one missing tooth, as well as his jaw being completely shattered. He felt the sharp, unimaginable pain all throughout his body, and groaned loudly. He heard screams some distance away, and the thundering of dozens of feet running across the ground. His vision had dark edges, slowly creeping further towards the centre which became blurry, and his hearing became muffled, as well as a sharp, high–pitched ringing noise droned on in his ear. He could smell and taste only blood, very strongly. He spat out the one tooth rolling around in his mouth, and used his intact right arm, still carrying his very much intact wand, to push himself over to lie on his back. He looked up, though now only through one eye. He could feel that his left one had been filled with blood due to punctured blood–vessels in it. He tried focusing on anything, and thought he saw the same woman standing behind some of the girls and boys gathering around him, but she turned around and disappeared.

"M–mu–" he tried to speak and raise his hand, but he was too weak, and his speech was drowned in the gurgling of his blood welling up in his throat.

Tears rolled out of his eye sockets and down his face as he felt the warm, familiar and safe presence leave him, making the air and ground seem a hundred degrees colder.

Don't leave me alone… in the cold darkness… again…

As his vision went completely black, the last thing he saw was silvery blond hair showering over his face, and he heard the concerned calls of a French woman. And, despite his nostrils being full of blood, he could smell that sweet honey and rosy scent.

•••

Harry could hear a sharp ringing noise in his ears, and muffled chatter. He could barely smell anything at all, except the sterile cloth of the hospital bed he was in. His left eye still felt somewhat swollen, but otherwise alright. His teeth were all back, he checked with his tongue. His nose still felt a little smashed, but it would likely pass. His left arm was encased in something hard, and his forehead was wrapped in bandages. His right leg was encased in something hard as well. His jaw was set with splinter and bandages as well, though he could feel that it had healed perfectly. Breathing brought an ache to his chest, signalling that his lungs and ribs were still healing. His right arm was just lying beside him, unharmed and untouched.

Harry could vaguely sense a few presences in the room, but when he reached out his sixth sense, he felt nauseous to the point of feeling like he was going to throw up, and reeled it back in. He couldn't force his eyes to open, but his hearing gradually lost the tinnitus, and gained sharpness and clarity. He could hear Dumbledore talking with someone. And when that someone spoke, he instantly felt a surge of happiness rush over him.

"Mistress," Harry rasped out, and before he knew it, his icy–cold right hand was being picked up by a pair of warm ones.

"I'm here, sweetheart," he heard Meerlinda's gentle voice whisper to him.

Her hand gently caressed his head and face, and tears welled up in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.

"She looked so real," he croaked. "Her presence felt so real."

"Who did, Harry?"

"My mum," he said as his breathing picked up and he sniffled. "I saw her, on the Astronomy Tower. She looked so real, I just wanted to embrace her," he began quietly sobbing. "I just wanted to touch her."

Meerlinda merely kept softly caressing and brushing his head and hair with her hand, whilst holding his undamaged hand with her other. Harry couldn't see her, as he couldn't open his eyes, but he knew she probably smiled. Despite his training, despite having grown up learning to kill by actually killing, and despite becoming cruel and ruthless, the deepest desire Harry had was still to see his parents, to meet them. He was incredibly strong, physically, mentally and emotionally, but his desire to see his parents had always prevented him from enjoying cruelty. His very human emotions keeping at bay the monstrous ones. He would still do horrible things, but he didn't enjoy them. And his parents had been his anchor on humanity since he was a boy.

"What time is it?" Harry asked after his tears and agonised breathing had subsided, which seemed like it had lasted for hours.

"It's almost two at night," Meerlinda replied calmly.

"How long have I been out?"

"About a week," she replied. "Your headmaster came to find me after what had happened. He brought me here to see you."

"Have you been…?"

"Not yet. You're not an average person, so I wanted you to heal substantially on your own before I risked feeding you. You've never been this hurt since the ritual, so I don't know how such a shock of vitae might affect you while you're healing."

"Right."

"By the way, what's this I hear about a girlfriend?"

…

"What? Now?" Harry croaked out, wincing at his laboured breathing.

"And she's French?" Meerlinda continued, not caring about how embarrassed her charge might be.

"You mean Fleur? She's nice, is all."

"And French."

"What'd you have against the French, anyway?"

"Let's see, shall we? They raided our chantries. Slaughtered our kind. Burned us on the stake and drowned us. 'Hung us till dead'. Shaved, beat, raped and humiliated us. Practically everything that is painful and deadly. This was before we became Kindred, mind you, and it only became worse."

"Well, Fleur's just a school girl. And a witch. I doubt she'd participate on the wrong side of a witch trial."

"Half–dead, and you're as cheeky as always, you little brat."

"Full–dead, and you're as biased as always, you old hag."

Meerlinda chuckled, and Harry tried as well, only to start coughing at the attempt.

"Shit," he mumbled. "How long until the first task?"

"I'm told it's three days from now."

"Did you bring IV equipment?"

"I did. I'll just set it up, and we'll start the transfusion."

"Great."

Harry noticed that Dumbledore had left the hospital wing to leave the pair alone, which he was grateful for. Within minutes, Meerlinda had set up the equipment and was sitting next to Harry, a needle in each of his arms connecting him to the small machine set on his nightstand. Meerlinda quickly inserted the other needle in each of her own arms, and sent her blood into the left appendage. She turned on the machine, and a cycle of blood flowed between them as the machine slowly pumped Meerlinda's blood into Harry's circulatory system, and Harry's blood was introduced into Meerlinda's system, converting into vitae. Harry concentrated, and focused his new, potent blood on healing his several injuries, one by one.

An hour later, Harry was completely healed, though he felt a dull ache all throughout his body. Meerlinda turned the machine off, and started packing it back down. Harry helped her, and got dressed in the fresh pair of clothes that had been laid out for him. He was informed that the others had been torn and bloodied after his fall.

"When're you leaving?" Harry asked his guardian quietly, getting close to her.

"In just a minute. The headmaster will escort me outside the gates, and then take me back to London."

"How are things there?"

"John Dee is making leeway, but it will still take months for him to dispose of Bowesley, if he can manage at all. He's a scientist and sorcerer, not a fighter or general. He can't lead an armed uprising."

"And where're you caught in the middle of that?"

"I'm Tremere, so I'm on Dee's side. I keep out of it, mostly, but he's actually been asking around for a masterless ghoul who seems to be clever and dangerous. Says he looked like a twelve–year–old boy with black hair and green eyes. Know a ghoulish creature befitting that description?"

Harry smiled lightly, and kissed Meerlinda's forehead.

"Thank you, mistress. You've always been there for me."

"Just make sure never to stab me in the back," she smiled and kissed Harry on the cheek.

She then turned around and walked off, heading down towards the entrance hall. It was well past curfew, so Harry decided to go to the kitchens before heading outside to watch the moon, which had just passed the full moon. Harry hadn't even noticed the phase that month. Now he better understood how he survived and healed so well from that fall. He stood a fair distance from the Beauxbatons carriage, under the shadow of the old oak tree. Harry's ear twitched when he heard a squeaking sound, and he turned to look at the carriage. His powerful vision still hadn't quite returned, but he could clearly make out Fleur sneaking out of the carriage wearing silk pyjamas and barefooted. She looked around for signs of anyone, before she took off running towards the castle. Harry wouldn't help the small whistle he did, drawing her attention. She looked around, spooked, but couldn't find him in the shadows. He smirked and stepped out from under the tree, his eyes glowing bright yellow in the darkness of the night. Her scared expression turned into relief, and she ran towards him as fast as she could. Harry braced for impact and caught her as she jumped into his arms.

"I was so worried," she said, short on breath. "I saw you fall, and when you landed, I–"

Harry cut her off, but not with words. She was silenced as he placed a deep, yet chaste kiss on her soft and delicate lips. He pulled back and smiled at her.

"Thank you, for your concern."

She was shocked speechless at what Harry had just done. Harry merely kept his hands on her hip and waist and kept smiling softly at her. She eventually smiled back and leant into him as well. They stood under the tree for minutes and minutes, kissing and caressing one another. Until Harry broke away.

"You know I'm fourteen, right?" he asked her with a smirk.

"What!?" she exclaimed, eyes wide like saucers.

"Yeah, I'm fourteen. But I honestly don't care much about that," he said before he leant back in, and Fleur was shocked for a little, but melted into his ministrations again. "I think I'm starting to love you," he whispered between their lips touching.

"I think I'm starting to like you too," she whispered back between kisses as well.

The First Task

Harry was sitting in an unused classroom, in the middle of a circle and David's Star drawn in chalk. Candles were placed at every point of the star, and in his hand was a silver bracelet. He chanted in Latin as he used his knife to slice his thumb and coat the chain in his blood. The metal seemed to absorb the blood, and it took on a bronze hue. As his chanting reached a peak in intensity, the candles suddenly flared up, and then died out. He opened his eyes and looked at the chain.

"Good," he muttered, and looked at his watch. Twenty minutes until he had to be in the tent to start the first task.

Harry stood up and made his way through the castle, until he reached the outdoors. He ran over the large stretch of grass and reached the tent. When he entered, wearing a black Henley, black cargo pants and black boots, he saw the other champions. Krum and Fleur were both sitting down, Fleur looking rather sick compared to Krum's stoic façade. Cedric was pacing nervously and sent him a nod when he entered. Harry returned it and walked over to Fleur and sat down next to her. She quickly took his hand and smiled weakly at him.

"You ready?" she asked. They had taken to communicate in French constantly, both because it was her preferred language, and because it allowed them to talk privately around other students not from Beauxbatons.

"Yeah, just needed to do some last–minute preparations," he said and pulled the simple chain out of his pocket. He swiftly and discreetly latched it around the wrist of the hand she had used to take his. "It's been enchanted to take the worst of the fire."

Her eyes widened a little, and she seemed to be about to protest, but Harry squeezed her hand.

"Just a safe–guard," Harry whispered. "I'll heal. You won't."

She looked deeply into his eyes, and he looked into hers.

"Champions!" Ludo Bagman's voice called out, and all the addressed students looked up at him as he entered the tent. "It is time! Give it everything you have!"

Crouch walked in after him, holding a purple, velvet bag. Harry was almost certain he knew what was in it, due to the bag moving and squirming, with guttural sounds coming from it.

"Champions, gather," he said sternly, and all the champions closed in around him. "In this bag are four miniature dragons, each with a number tied around their necks. The dragon you draw is the dragon you will face, and the number is the order in which you will go. The objective is simple: take the golden egg placed amongst the dragon's real eggs, and return to safe space away from the dragon. You are not allowed to harm the dragon or its eggs. Do you all understand?"

They all nodded.

"Ladies first, Ms Delacour," he said and held the open bag towards her.

She cast a quick glance at Harry before hesitantly sticking her hand into the bag and pulling out one of the miniatures. A Welsh Green, with the number two. She looked at it intensely, as if she could will away her fear and anxiety. She was pale as a sheet, and Harry wanted to hold her hand in that moment, but it would be unprofessional.

Next was Krum, who pulled out the Chinese Fireball, with a three around its neck. Then came Cedric, who drew the Swedish Short–snout, with the number one, and finally came Harry. He calmly pulled out the Hungarian Horntail, with the number four. It bared its tine fangs at him, and without thinking, Harry held it close to its face and growled back at it. It quickly started whining and crumpled up, and Harry started chuckling.

"Serves you right," he muttered, and then noticed everyone looking at him like he was crazy. "What?"

Fleur calmed down and faintly smiled, whereas Krum just scowled even more than usually and trudged away. Cedric seemed to be astonished but shook his head and went back to pacing.

"When the cannon fires, Mr Diggory will make his way into the arena. Prepare yourselves," Crouch said, and then left the tent. Bagman followed after enthusiastic well–wishes.

Harry and Fleur walked over to the place they had been seated before and sat down again. Harry took her hands and gently rubbed them.

"You'll be fine," he reassured her. "You're clever, I know you are. Just play to your strengths, and you'll do fine."

"What are your strengths?" she asked and leant into him, whilst he wrapped his right arm around her.

"Fist–fights," he said. "Ritual and blood magic. Hunting, and killing."

"Mine are charms and transfiguration," she muttered. "And seducing men."

"Think you can seduce a female dragon?" Harry asked with a snicker.

Fleur placed her left hand on his stomach, and carefully traced it around, even sliding it quite low.

"No, but I can seduce you," she whispered into his ear, then flicked her tongue at his ear–lobe, and her hand went down onto his thigh, right beside his crotch, coming dangerously close to his manhood.

"You definitely can," he muttered and very briefly caught her lips with his own. "But I'm not the task at hand."

Fleur nodded quietly.

"I'll try my hardest."

"As will I."

Soon, the cannon sounded, and Cedric walked out. He was done in a while, but finished quickly. Then came Fleur's cannon, and Harry listened intently. He could hear her feet moving about, her rapid breathing, and the growls, grunts and roars of the dragon. But she finished rather quickly as well, not having been hurt too badly. Then came Krum, and after that, it was Harry. Harry made his way to the entrance to the arena, and in contrast to the cheering of the other champions, almost every Hogwarts student was silent as he came out, only receiving cheers and applause from the staff and the other schools, as well as Hermione and the Weasleys. Harry looked up and found the other schools to be perplexed at only five Hogwarts students applauding the other of their own champions. Harry calmly walked into the arena, and looked at the foul beast of a dragon at the other end. It was practically covered in horns and spikes, and its yellow eyes looked ready to incinerate him.

Harry jumped down from a rock, then another, and soon, he was standing in the middle of the arena, staring down the dragon which was easily within fire–breath distance. Their eyes were locked, and neither moved.

"And by Merlin's beard, Potter is staring down the dragon!" Harry heard Bagman exclaim with his amplified voice. "What a courageous feat!"

Harry stepped just a few steps closer, and the dragon lowered its head. Soon, his face was right at its snout, and their eyes were completely locked. It could easily take off his head if it wanted.

"Dear me, he is awfully close!"

Harry reacted quickly as it snapped after his head. He whipped it to the side and used his hand to guide the massive head away. He then jumped for the egg, but its tail slammed right into him, sending him flying into the stands with two massive holes in his torso. As he landed on the ground, he rolled into cover behind a large rock as the dragon sent a jet of flame his way. Luckily, the dragon hadn't struck any major organs, so the wounds closed rather quickly. He looked out from his cover and saw that the dragon had its eyes trained on his location. He also noticed that a few people had screamed when he was struck, but he paid them no mind. Practically every student knew after reading the Daily Prophet that he was a dark creature, so why bother hiding it?

Harry jumped up and ran out of his cover, along the arena's edge and jumped behind another when another fire stream was shot at him. He pulled out his wand and readied himself. He pointed it at a rock, made it levitate, and sent it flying at the dragon. It struck the dragon right in the head, and Harry used that distraction to close the distance to a cover closer to the dragon. When it regained its bearing, it sent a stream of fire to where he had previously been. It also started stamping towards it, and when its head passed the rock he was hiding behind, he quickly jumped up and grabbed the dragon's snout, wrapping his arms around it to keep it closed, and then kicked his foot underneath the heavy rock, breaking his toes, but getting solid foothold. His muscles strained immensely under the strength of the dragon trying to pull away, but he wouldn't let it go.

He groaned under the force, and then made a strong, final pull, dragging the dragon's head and throat to the ground. Thinking quickly, he sheathed his wand and sent a small stream of blood into his arms. He word– and wandlessly cast the Amplifying charm, but using the magical control he had practiced ever since he learned he was a wizard, directed the spell's effect to his palms. He slammed them together in a clap, right above the dragon's head, and a loud crack resounded throughout the arena, concussing both Harry and the dragon.

He pulled his foot out from under the rock with a pained moan, his ears starting to bleed quite heavily, and started stumbling his way towards the golden egg. He just managed to grab it, before he saw the hind leg of the dragon come crashing down towards him. It would easily kill him if he did nothing. He threw the egg over to the entrance of the arena and slammed his two hands against the clawed foot crashing down with almost a tonne of force on him. Harry called up his rage with a battle roar, and his arms bulged and transformed, as did his legs and his midsection. The claws of the dragon's foot dug into his transformed shoulders, arms, and chest. Harry let out a howl of pain, but his body held strong against the foot, and soon, where Harry had stood, was a large, bipedal, humanoid wolf, easily three and a half metres tall, bulging with muscles and with a frothing snout. It roared as it dug its claws into the dragon's foot, through the scales, and started pulling the dragon. With a surge of unholy, vampiric strength, the wolf roared even louder, and swung the dragon backwards, lifting it off the ground and slamming it into the ground, making the ground shake powerfully, as people screamed, shouted, and cried on the stands.

The wolf, however, dropped to its reverting knees, and slowly receded back into Harry, who sat on hands and knees, panting and heaving in tattered clothes as his arms, shoulders and chest bled profusely. He was shaking and sweating, and he had trouble breathing. He could feel his limbs give in, as he could feel that they had been torn apart by the exertion, and some of his ligaments were completely torn as well. He crawled away, using a single arm to drag himself towards the exit, where the egg lay. His breath was ragged and irregular, adrenalin pumped excessively through his veins, and his heart beating at far over the point where a human would have an arrhythmia, well over two hundred beats per minute. But, despite his physical and physiological supremacy over humans, he was still a living creature. His heart stopped beating with any semblance of rhythm, and he felt it clearly. The stabbing pain in his chest was unbearable, and he screamed in agony. He could barely think, as oxygen–rich blood was denied his brain. He saw black spots, and then the encroaching darkness. He pushed through, and kept crawling until he placed his hand on the egg at the entrance. Just in time to hear the dragon rustle, roar and he just barely heard the flame coming for him. Using the last bit of strength he had left, he sent his mind deep into his body, into his mindscape. He forced his brain, though the mystical power in his blood to work at ten thousand times the rate of a normal human brain, stronger than when he had done it to analyse his situation as he fell.

Harry stood above his own body, looking down at it as it was almost touched by the flames. He crouched down next to it and studied it.

"Ligaments in shoulders, chest, arms, hips, thighs, knees and ankles sprung. Muscles shredded in the same places. An instant until the fire reaches me. I will go into shock in less than two seconds, so I have to remain calm, and sever my connection to pain receptors in my lower body. Then I will have less than two seconds to stabilise myself. Heart palpitations irregular at 273 beats per minute. Breathing has passed into hyperventilation. Five seconds of consciousness if the fire kills me quickly. Nine if it isn't enough to utterly overwhelm my regeneration. I will pass into the underworld for a brief minute. Whilst there, I have to compel spirits into possessing my body. I have to make room for at least ten, preferably a hundred. Speed is of the essence. The passage of time fluctuates in the underworld, but I can rely that it will be faster for the moment. Then, I call upon Gaia's gift to negate the flames. I then rouse my rage and force my body to regenerate quicker. I put my blood to aid in the regeneration, as well as fortifying my body. I'll be practically invulnerable for twenty seconds. I'll transport myself into the medical tent, and hope Madam Pomfrey can help me. If not, my soul will eventually be torn from my body. In short, I'll die."

Harry nodded, and stood up. He then leant backwards, and fell into the ground, until he passed right through the ground and emerged in a terribly dreadful and dreary, grey place, ghastly winds passing around him carrying the wails of the departed. Harry crouched down and placed his palms together. He then placed them on the ground, and a glowing white circle with several ancient symbols of shamanic origins spread out beneath them. The wails became louder and louder, until he saw horrifying images of tormented souls soar directly into him. One after the next, dozens of tormented, depraved, and horrendously twisted souls of killers, murderers and tyrants, the strongest of the deceased. He felt the bloodlust, the seething desire for pain and suffering, but he felt his body grounded for the time–being. He let himself fall backwards again, and sank through the ground once more, until he saw his body lying on the ground again, his legs being charred. He felt ice cold at his feet. He closed his eyes, and felt his consciousness return to his body.

Seven seconds left.

He felt the flame reach his hip, and lost all sensation in his legs. He focused, and his heart rate suddenly dropped.

195 beats per minute, blood pressure normalised, breathing stabilised.

He then let his wolf spirit flow through his body, and the flames stopped hurting, nor did they injure him. He had become the master of fire, but only for a moment.

Five seconds.

Harry called upon his rage and his blood, and felt his body begin to heal, ligaments melting back together and muscles re–stitching themselves. He then felt nauseous as his body fell through the ground, and into the medical tent.

One second.

He briefly heard the muffled shouts and cries of others, but he blacked out.

•••

Harry once more smelt the sterile cloth of the hospital bed he found himself in the second time over the past week. He still felt burnt and hammered, practically near–death, but just barely alive thanks to the damned souls slowly leaving his body. As depraved as they had been during their own lives, they had now helped save his. Any hope they had of redemption was now one step closer to realisation. But as it was, only one soul could leave a body at a time. The already–dead souls acted as a traffic–blockade so that Harry's soul could stay in his body longer, to allow his body to heal properly, and thereby not kill him by ejecting his own soul. Harry was happy he had undergone the equivalent of centuries of training and study. Without them, he might very well be dead.

Harry tried pushing himself off the bed, only to groan and stop when a sharp pain shot through his body. His body was still shattered, and would likely be so for days, or even weeks. In his current state, he doubted he'd be able to move properly for months. But at least, he would live. He opened his eyes, and saw that a few people were leaning over him, studying him intently. He recognised none of them, and they all wore rather formal robes.

Ministry men.

"Get away from me," he mumbled and blinked until his eyes focused properly.

"He has only just regained consciousness," one of them said and scribbled something on a notepad, "yet already comprehends what is going on around him. Magnificent."

"I said," Harry muttered and grit his teeth in exertion, "get away from me."

Suddenly, the men were lightly pushed away by an unseen force, granting Harry space. Fighting against every instinct in his body to remain lying and the pain induced by the action, he slowly raised himself to a sitting position.

"I'm not an animal in a zoo," he growled. "Ask permission if you want to study me."

"You were unconscious," he heard Crouch's cold and stern voice. "They couldn't have gott–"

"Exactly," Harry pointed out. "Get the fuck away from me, cunts."

Dumbledore calmly walked over and sat down in a chair next to the boy.

"Are you alright, Harry?" he asked with concern as he gently put a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"I will be, in a few weeks," the werewolf grunted out, trying to block out the pain. "You wouldn't happen to have pain–killers, would you? A bottle should be good."

"You mean muggle pain–relieving medicine?"

"Yeah."

"Unfortunately not, I'm afraid."

"I should have expected that."

"Harry Potter, you're in the custody of the Ministry of Magic's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. If you try to resist, you will–" Crouch tried to say, but Harry cut him off.

"I'm not in anyone's custody, Crouch. If you want to kill me, do so. But you'll be putting down the only person capable of killing Voldemort."

"–you will be stunned and taken to a secure cell, from which we can observe you. You're too dangerous to be free."

"He is my student, Mr Crouch," Dumbledore said and stood to his full height as he approached the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. "I will be the judge of that. And you cannot jail a human under the accusation that he is a dark creature. Your own laws prohibit it."

"He is obviously not human, Dumbledore," Crouch countered, getting angered by the headmaster. "He is obviously a werewolf. We need to study him so that we can find out how he can control his transformation, not to mention that he resembles no werewolf we have ever encountered."

"Because I'm not a werewolf," Harry shot in. "I'm a human with lycanthropic traits. There's a difference."

"Stop lying, Potter, you're not helping your situation. Just be quiet and complacent whilst we perform our tests and take you–"

"Now, who in their right mind would do that?" Harry asked with a dark chuckle. "You must be insane if you think such a line would work on anyone. Besides, if you take me to the Ministry, I will break out, and I will start butchering wizards and witches. Within six hours, there won't be a single employee of the Ministry in the building who will remain alive. And then, your society would fall apart."

Crouch and Dumbledore, not to mention the posse of ministry underlings gathered close to Crouch, all looked at Harry, shocked.

"I don't want to, mind you, but I will do it if you intend on treating me like that."

"Harry, will you ever stop threatening people with destroying their lives?" Dumbledore asked.

"No."

And suddenly, Harry vanished without a trace. Crouch was quiet, astonished, for a moment.

"Spread out and find him!"

•••

Harry plumped down on the ground next to the oak tree he always used to exercise. He discovered that it was night time once more.

"I really need to stop getting so injured," he groaned to himself as he sat up against the tree.

He then pulled up the left sleeve of his hospital pyjamas to reveal a tattoo on the underside of it, which was only visible when he was severely injured. He extended his canine teeth into fangs and bit his right thumb, before he smeared the bleeding thumb across the tattoo. Nothing happened for a little while, but then his body started feeling warm, and he felt everything in his body still injured healing at an exceptional rate, even for him. He sat concentrated for an hour until the sensation stopped, and when it was done, he was fully healed. He looked down to see the tattoo fade.

"And now I've spent my one–time–use rejuvenation. Damn it."

It was a ritual his mistress had developed a few real–time decades before she had found him. It created a tattoo on the human's skin, which could be activated by smearing their blood across it. The thaumaturge would then become aware of the human's state of injury and was able to heal them using their own blood from afar. It was a very powerful ritual, and it could only be used on the same person once every seasonal year. But he was now completely healed, thanks to his mistress responding to his distress call. Harry got up on aching muscles, but quickly got rid of the tire by running a lap around the lake. When he returned to the oak tree, he saw Fleur sitting under it, dressed in her pyjamas again, trying to comfort herself. He came up to her and sat down.

"Why the sad face?"

She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him tight.

"Would you ever stop trying to kill yourself?"

"Maybe," he jokingly said, which only made her squeeze harder around his throat. "Okay, okay!"

She released him, but immediately pulled him into a kiss. Long and sweet, sending all her concern, worry, and hopelessness into him. He returned it passionately and pulled her into his arms.

"I think I could get used to this," he said with a smirk

"Jerk."

They sat under the tree for what seemed like hours, kissing and touching each other caringly. Harry knew that he would one day, or more specifically night, have to forsake such pleasures as this. But tonight wasn't that night. He definitely wasn't stupid, he knew that the plan was for him to eventually die and rise as a Kindred himself. It was what he wanted. But Fleur… she was special. He did want to be with her, he really did. They had talked a lot between the first time they met, and when he had thrown himself off the Astronomy tower, and he had really come to like her. He even saw a potential partner in her. In his dreams, she was a potential partner, at least. He knew he would have to part with her before long. After a while, they broke off their kisses, and simply snuggled close to each other. Harry's body produced an enormous amount of body heat, so Fleur didn't get cold, and the pair sat comfortably like that for almost an hour, until Harry heard voices coming from the school courtyard, a good distance away.

"Damn," he muttered.

"What?" Fleur asked worriedly.

"Crouch and his cronies are coming."

"Why, what do they want?"

"They want to lock me in a cell in the Ministry so that they can learn what kind of creature I am."

"You're a werewolf, right? What more could they want to know?"

"They want to know how I can control my transformation. Besides, I'm not entirely a werewolf. There's still some human in me. I'm sorry, but I have to go," he muttered and kissed the top of her head.

She silently nodded and stood up. When he got up as well, she quickly placed a kiss on his lips, and then walked back towards the Beauxbatons carriage. Harry sent a last, longing look after her, before he ran towards the courtyard, and made short work of climbing its façade. He then stood up on the room and looked down on the people from the Ministry.

"Give it up, Crouch," he called out, drawing attention to himself. "I'm not coming with you, and you can't stop me. I'm fully healed and back at my full strength."

"And how that is possible is exactly why we're taking you in! If that magic could be used to help the injured and fatally ill, the res–"

"If you want to play on sympathy or empathy, you're dealing with the wrong man. I feel neither. I don't care for the plight of average wizards. I gained this power so that I could defeat Voldemort, and that is the only thing I will do with it."

Even in the relative darkness of the night, Harry's glowing eyes easily picked out Crouch's narrowed ones.

"I would have thought the Boy Who Lived would und–"

"How many times to I have to tell you braindead morons!?" Harry exclaimed and threw his hands in the air. "I am not the Boy Who Lived! I am the Orphan Who Survived! Get that through your thick fucking skulls! I am no saviour! I am merely a vengeful boy who will hunt and kill the one who murdered my parents!"

"You Know Who is gone! There is no Dark Lord to take revenge out on!"

"If he truly is gone, then why are you still afraid of speaking his self–proclaimed name!? That is an act of cowardice, from someone whose very reputation and life is built on being courageous and unflinching in the face of danger! The wizarding society must have low standards for their heroes! Especially if a toddler can be considered one!"

Crouch's nostrils and eyes flared.

"Continue your foolish endeavour to capture me! Send every Auror, every dementor, every member of the Ministry of Magic! I am not limited to the wizarding world! You will never catch me, and if you miraculously somehow do, I will slip through your fingers like smoke! Nowhere in this world or the one below is too far for me! Hell, I could hide in London, and you would never get me!"

Crouch seemed furious, but he stormed off with his posse following close behind. Harry watched them go, watched them until they exited the gate, at which point, they apparated away.

"I must say, Harry," said boy heard the voice of Albus Dumbledore behind him, "that that was quite a demoralising speech."

"It's true, though. I don't care about them. I wouldn't go out of my way to harm anyone, but I won't go out of my way to help them, either. My life has one single purpose, and that is the destruction of Voldemort. When he is dead, I don't care what happens to me anymore. But I won't stop fighting until he's gone forever."

Dumbledore nodded quietly.

"If that is truly the case, then there is something I need to tell you."

Harry was quiet, a clear sign for Dumbledore to go on.

"I have researched these objects I believe Voldemort to have created. Horcruxes. And there is something I have come to believe. I believe that on the night that he killed James and Lily, and he intended to kill you, his soul was so fractured and brittle, that a little piece of it broke off from the rest, and latched itself on to the only living thing it could find nearby."

Harry didn't believe what he was hearing. He turned around to face the old headmaster.

"What?"

"I believe, that a bit of Voldemort's soul latched itself onto you, Harry. I believe, that for Voldemort to truly be able to be killed, you have to die as well."

Harry studied Dumbledore's face and eyes for the slightest trace of a lie, but found only sadness.

"I have to die?"

"Yes. You must die."

Harry turned away and looked out over the Black Lake. He had to die to kill Voldemort? How bloody ironic. So much so, that Harry began to chuckle. First chuckle, then laugh.

"I have to die, so that Voldemort can die?" he laughed. "That is so backwards!"

But he didn't stop laughing. He couldn't stop. He was raised like a pig for slaughter! Kept alive so that he could die at just the right moment! Harry's laughter took a long while to died down.

"Headmaster, I'm leaving Hogwarts for a while, but I'll be back in time for the Yule Ball. Can you write up documents on where you think these horcruxes might be, as well as what they could be?"

Dumbledore nodded gravely.

"Then deliver them to my mistress' chantry, and I'll start looking for them immediately."

"If this is how you want to do it, the I won't stop you," Dumbledore said. "But if you ever need to reach Sirius or any other member of the Order of the Phoenix, the headquarters can be found at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. I'll be reorganising the Order as quickly as possible."

"Right," Harry said.

"I'll also tell them that you are to be commander–in–chief," Dumbledore said. "You are best prepared to face the Death Eaters and Voldemort on equal footing, once Voldemort regains a body. I have a feeling it will happen soon."

"I've had an ominous feeling of late as well," Harry nodded. "I'll consult the omens, see what I can divine."

"You're proficient at divination?"

"Not the crap Trelawny teaches here, but I have some skill, yes."

"Very well. I have a feeling that the war starts soon."

"It will," Harry stated calmly. "And if Voldemort doesn't start it, I will. And I will win it. By the way, can you come by sometime and cast some wards and charms on my mistress' chantry? Apparition, portkey, the works? I'm rather interested in hiding it with the Fidelius charm, in particular."

"I will. When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow. I have some writing to do before I leave."

"Alright. I will inform the staff of your absence."

"Good."

A Declaration of War

Fleur woke up Monday morning to have class with her Beauxbatons schoolmates, but as she lifted her head from her pillow, she saw an envelope with her name in neat, curly writing on it. She looked around for a sign on one of her roommates that they had put it there, but none of them acknowledged her at the early hour. She quickly opened it and was almost brought to tears by the contents.

Fleur

For as long as I have lived, my only goal has been to avenge the deaths of my parents. Now, I have set out to do just that. Know this: Voldemort WILL return, and when he does, the wizarding world will be thrown into the tumult and chaos characteristic of war. I've set out to begin this war early, and catch my enemies off–guard. I cannot tell you where I have gone, or where I will be going, nor can I even tell you with certainty that you will even see me again. I will work my hardest to return to Hogwarts for the Yule Ball, but I can only stay that one night. I will return for the other tasks as well, if I still draw breath by then.

Honestly, I was incredibly sceptical about you at first. I doubted you felt anything very deeply, or that you cared for anyone. I assumed that you, like almost every other human being would reject me for being a werewolf. True, I did manipulate you at first to be calm in my presence, but only so that I could talk to you properly. I have only done so once, and I was very pleasantly surprised when you seemed to have genuine feelings for me, as I, honestly to my regret, have for you. An ancient saying goes that loves makes a man weak, especially before battle. I fear that, if I were to stay and grow even closer to you, I would be unable to perform the task that has been laid out before since I was orphaned October 31st, 1981.

It is with this in mind, that I implore you: if you intend to have any part in the coming war, let professor Dumbledore know in secrecy that you wish to join the Order of the Phoenix once the school year is over, and you graduate from Beauxbatons. He will take care of you. And try to get to know Hermione Granger, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George Weasley (the bunch with the red hair). The Weasley parents are members of the Order as well, and Hermione will almost certainly want to join them as well. I'm not telling you to like them, mind you, but allies will become very scarce, as the Ministry will almost inevitably label Dumbledore and myself lunatics and madmen, paranoid and scared by some phantom, unreal darkness once Voldemort returns. It is the nature of a government to try and limit panic and chaos in its domain, whatever means necessary, and wizard–kind is no different.

I realise that this will take time. That the road ahead is long, and shrouded in mystery, darkness, and uncertainty. It is a road that will not always take us where we wish to go, and I doubt all of us will live to see it's end. But I know that I, at least, will travel down it, nonetheless. For at my side walks hope. In the face of all that insists I turn back, I will carry on. And I would love nothing more than to have you beside me, when I do. I never felt that true love could be real. But I deeply hope that you will prove me wrong.

Yours,

Harry

She put the letter down and stared out into nothingness. A war was coming, and she had just been given the perfect opportunity for her best chance at survival by a fourteen–year–old she had met just a month earlier. Whom she really had developed feelings for. A single, lonely tear rolled down her cheek.

•••

Harry entered the underground chantry in London and made his way down, backpack over his shoulder and trunk bumping down the stairs behind him. He relished in the smell of the place, the scent of home. He threw himself in a couch as soon as he came downstairs and ditched his trunk and pack.

"Is that you, Harry?" he heard his mistress call.

"Yeah," he called back and sighed in relief. "God, I've missed this sofa!"

"You used the rejuvenation glyph," she called again from her study. "What happened?"

"I almost burned to death, but I managed."

"Good."

Harry got up and went to her study to find her poring over ancient hermetic texts. He walked over and kissed the top of her head as he looked over her shoulder.

"Another ward?"

"You can never be too careful," she muttered.

"Speaking of which," Harry said with a gleeful tone, "I got Dumbledore to come and place wizarding wards on the chantry. A Fidelius charm, too."

"What is a 'Fidelius charm'?"

"A person is made secret keeper; he or she is the only one who can reveal the location of a place or person to others. Even if others know where it is, they can't find it until the secret keeper informs them, willingly. It can't be under torture or truth–serum, or it won't work."

Meerlinda's eyes glinted with sadistic glee.

"What an interesting spell."

"I know," Harry said as he leant down and wrapped his arms around his beloved mistress, "and he's going to cast it on this place and make me the secret keeper. I want to see if the Embrace constitutes as dying to this spell. If the secret keeper dies, everyone who previously knew the information becomes a secret keeper. I'll only tell Dumbledore and you where the chantry is, unless the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is infiltrated because someone killed Dumbledore. And, I'll make sure that they know that the price for staying here is a little blood now and then. You will be their landlady if it comes to that, after all."

Meerlinda kissed her charge on the cheek and nuzzled into him.

"I knew I raised you to be clever."

"You and James were the best mentors I could ever have had. And once Voldemort's gone for good, I can turn my complete, undivided attention to you, Mistress."

"Hmm, what about your girlfriend?"

"I doubt she'll want to have anything to do with me once I become Kindred. Speaking of which, I have to go see Dr Dee," Harry snickered when he realised the rhyme.

"Why?"

"Well, I need to establish myself as a trusted servant for when he takes power," Harry stated. "I think I'd like to become the Scourge of London."

"I thought you wanted to go to New Orleans?"

"I think David can wait a few years until I go see him. Besides, I don't think he'd appreciate a contender for the position of Scourge of New Orleans."

"No, I suppose he wouldn't. When you see Dee, you're allowed to tell him that I'm your domitor. He is, after all, my own childe," Meerlinda drawled out. "How are you handling your hormones?"

"Not well," Harry admitted.

"Then let us go relieve stress, shall we?" she asked with a very seductive smile.

•••

Harry walked through the streets of London, in his usual get–up. He was quite happy to be free of the restricting robes of Hogwarts. He was wearing black jeans, a black Henley and a black blazer. It had been a long time since he had been in London, and especially in normal clothes. But tonight, he had a goal: find Dee, and make his proposition. It proved to be a rather simple task, but Harry was very well aware that it could only be a simple task when Dee wanted to be found. Harry came upon the man in a park in the metropolis of innovation and glass–structures. The teenager sat down on the bench next to the man wearing a black trench coat, sporting his usual shoulder–length, curled hair, as well as black goatee.

"Elder Dee," Harry courteously said with a small smile.

"Harrison," the elder vampire returned with an obviously fake smile. Meerlinda had informed Harry of the elder's inability to express human emotions properly, despite his feelings. "I've been looking for you."

"So I've heard. I would like to hear what you have to say."

"As a ghoul, you're no doubt aware of the fact that Kindred society in London is ruled by a woman by the name of Anne Bowesley, who fancies herself 'Queen'."

"My domitor has informed me of the matter, indeed," Harry confirmed.

"Are you still unable to inform me of their name?"

"She granted me permission to tell you just nineteen hours ago. It is your sire, Meerlinda."

Dee's eyes scrutinised Harry, no doubt searching for a sign of deception.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. She is grooming me for the Embrace as well. Soon, I shall be your neonate broodmate. I hope to get along well."

"As do I," the elder said and held out his hand, which Harry respectfully shook.

"I came here to tell you myself, that I am interested in your quest for princedom, and that Mistress Meerlinda has granted me permission to aid you on my own time."

"She allows you free time?"

"Some. But, I would make one request to you, if I were to help you."

"Which is?"

"I should like to become your scourge."

"Done. I shall be looking forward to your service during my praxis."

"As shall I. What is our first step?"

"I would like you to get a good grasp of her routines, as well as the routines of her ghouls. If I am to usurp her, assassination is the only way. But I cannot do so without an iron–clad reason."

"I suppose the amaranth would suffice?"

"Indeed it would, young one. But I am afraid she seems not to be inclined to the abominable practice."

Harry became quiet as he thought. After a few minutes, he spoke up again.

"I will search London for someone who can help with that. If it proves impossible, you could sire a childe and stake him, then put him in an old Tremere chantry. I spread rumours of a Tremere elder sleeping somewhere in London, and if I can get her to take the bait, and subtly feed her information enough to piece together the location, we can photograph her in the act. It would be enough to depose her, and give you the window of opportunity you need to claim praxis."

Dee looked at the teen with an impressed look.

"I think it could work. And if it doesn't, we can always try something else."

"Exactly."

"Very well, Harrison. I will wait for your next input. I will give you the location once I have picked a chantry suitable for the purpose, if the first plan proves failure."

"Then I will get to work on spreading the rumour. If we're lucky, it might take a couple of weeks for it to take hold."

"Then I bid you adieu, and I will put out the word that I am looking for you once my preparations are complete."

"I'm looking forward to serving under your praxis," Harry stood up and bowed lightly to the elder. "Good evening, Elder Dee."

"Good evening, Harrison."

•••

Harry was sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, his hair blond and his eyes blue. He didn't carry the scar anymore either, nor did his face look the same. Amongst all the instructors Meerlinda had acquired for him, the Nosferatu teaching him had been especially adept at teaching him how to appear as someone else. Harry was on a mission, however. Sitting in the corner of the room, talking in hushed voices, sat Briveaux Jacques, a French pure–blood wizard who had moved to England in 1977 to join the Death Eater regime. He hadn't been given the Dark Mark, nor was he even actually a Death Eater, as far as Harry's intelligence had gathered, but he was a kind of ambassador to Voldemort supporters in France. That much, Harry's source could confirm. Harry momentarily thought of Fleur, but pushed the thoughts away. He was stalking his prey, and he couldn't allow himself to be distracted. He was talking to a man Harry's spies had named as Amycus Carrow, a Death Eater from the war. Harry listened in, but he heard nothing he found of any use. Just vague mentions of the Dark Lord's return, the time for Mudblood subjugation had come, the usual Death Eater chatter. Harry waited patiently, drinking his beer and reading his book, occasionally sending glances over at the table to spy on the two.

It took half an hour for them to finish, and when they did, Carrow headed towards London, whereas Jacques headed towards Diagon Alley. Harry placed a galleon on the table and closed his book as he stood up to follow. Harry trailed the French wizard through Diagon Alley, and into Knockturn Alley. He followed the man into a small backroad, and witnessed Jacques talking to a woman of less than stellar looks, both in terms of attractiveness and innocence. When they finished, she handed Jacques something wrapped in a cloth, and Jacques headed back towards the opening of the alley. Harry gripped his knife tightly, his hand shaking just slightly with the anticipation of the kill. When the wizard came close enough, Harry silently jumped into the alley, placed his hand over Jacques' mouth, and drove his silver–bladed bayonet into the man's head from the throat. He kept pressing Jacques against the wall, slowing his descent onto the ground to keep it as quiet as possible, and when the corpse had been sat down, Harry pulled out his knife and wiped it off in Jacques' clothing. He sheathed the knife and picked up the cloth–wrapped item, hid it beneath his jacket, and exited the wizarding district in the heart of London.

•••

"Have you guys seen this?" Hermione asked and placed the day's issue of the Daily Prophet in front of Ron, Ginny, Fred and George at Breakfast.

They all looked at it.

TRAGEDY STRIKES DIAGON ALLEY!

The French wizard Briveaux Jacques, sent to England by the French Ministry of Magic to act as a diplomat, was found murdered in Knockturn Alley in the late hours of the night. According to a spokesman from the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the unfortunate man was killed from a stab–wound in the throat, suggesting a knife of fifteen centimetres or more was used to take the life of the wizard. The French Ministry of Magic is outraged, and demands that all available resources be diverted to locating the killer's whereabouts. According to the spokesman, the killer was extremely proficient, most likely a professional assassin, and left no clue as to his or her identity. Eye–witnesses claim that a blond man with blue eyes and a youthful face seemed to be observing the man, and left the Leaky Cauldron tavern at the same time as Briveaux Jacques. If anyone has any insight into the matter, the spokesman says, they should contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as soon as possible.

"A fifteen–centimetre knife or longer?" Ginny stated. "If the killer was a wizard, wouldn't they just have used a spell?"

"Well, maybe it was a squib or something?" Ron pointed out.

"Ron, we know a person who has a fifteen–centimetre knife," Hermione whispered. "It's made of silver."

"You don't mean–" Ginny was about to say.

"That's exactly what I mean. It was Harry who killed that man," Hermione stated. "I'm sure of it."

"Well, maybe he was a Death Eater?" Ron tried again.

"I doubt it," they heard a voice with a French accent behind them, and turned around.

Ron was absolutely shocked, Fred and George less so, and Hermione and Ginny simply glared at the sight of Fleur Delacour.

"What do you want?" Hermione spat.

"'Arry told me to get to know you," she said with dignity. "Zat man was no Deeth Eeter, but 'e was a dark vizard. Rumors about 'is family 'ave been around for decades. 'e must 'ave 'ad some connectión to ze Deeth Eeters, though."

"Harry told you?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, 'e did. 'e left ze school so zat 'e could 'unt down Deeth Eeters. 'e wrote me a letter."

"Why would he do that?" Ginny asked, but the boys were still entranced by Fleur's mere presence.

"Ve 'ave been spending much time together in ze past month. We 'ave started – what do you call it? – dating."

The boys' mouths fell open, and Ginny did grow a few shades redder, but Hermione didn't even flinch.

"Thanks, but we'll ask Harry when he returns. Have a nice day," Hermione said and took her newspaper before she got up and stormed off.

Ginny went back to her breakfast, somewhat seething, and the boys merely stared after Fleur as she practically waltzed away.

•••

Harry sat on a bench, reading his issue of the Daily Prophet, but kept glancing over at the two men having a heated argument in the alley across the street. He was in the same disguise again, and kept his eyes focused just over the edge of his newspaper, trained on the men. Soon, one of them left, and the other sat down in the alley and cursed and crumbled. Harry folded the newspaper and quietly slid his knife inside it. He casually walked across the street, into the alley, and pretended to not grant the angry man another thought. When he came close, however, the man stood up.

"The hell'd you want, ey!?" he asked angrily.

Harry merely relaxed his grip on the newspaper, letting the knife slide out. He swiftly grabbed it, and in one fluid motion dragged it across the man's throat, eliciting only a gargling noise as the man's throat was cut open, revealing his larynx and airpipe. Harry quickly wiped the knife in the man's robes as he passed, before he slid it back inside the newspaper. He kept walking, and eventually disappeared from sight.

•••

Soon, December was nearing its end, and the Yule Ball approached. Fleur, however, felt in no festive mood. Over the month's time in which Harry had been absent from school, no less than twelve murders had happened in places often frequented by wizards, according to the Daily Prophet, all sharing one motif: death by a knife–wound. She felt sick to her core, but she knew that Harry had warned her about it. War was coming, and this was how it started. Fleur had been looking forward to seeing him again, but she was worried about how he would look to her, after twelve reported (and more suspected) assassinations had occurred amongst British wizards and witches in December alone. She knew it was him. He had explicitly told her it was what he was going to do in his letter. But that was no more comfort than the times she had needed to rush to the bathroom to relieve her stomach of her breakfast after witnessing the photographs in the newspapers of what Harry had done. The killings had gradually become more and more brutal, and several Slytherins had been taken home by wives now widowed, the students now fatherless.

Slytherins had become paranoid, and no one knew why exactly it seemed to be exclusive to the Slytherin house. Only Fleur, Hermione, the Weasleys and several members of the staff (definitely including Snape and Karkaroff) knew why; every single victim had been linked to Death Eater activity in the past, or had been suspected of it. Fleur knew from history what Voldemort's forces had done in the past, what horrors they had committed. But she still felt dirtier and dirtier with every murder Harry committed, and it had become so bad that she had scrubbed her skin of her cheeks and neck red several times in the shower, trying to rinse off where Harry had kissed her.

She had shed tears over it, and none of her schoolmates knew what to do about it. But Fleur had abstained from the behaviour the past few days. The Yule Ball was the following night, and she couldn't afford to look weak in front of the whole of the three schools present.

And finally, the night of the Ball arrived, and Fleur had just gotten ready. She stood in the Entrance Hall, her heart sinking heavily at the realisation that Harry wouldn't make it. She would just have to straighten her back, and walk in alone, head held high and pride intact. Or…

"Miss me, darling?" came the sensual voice in her right ear, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine.

She felt a gentle hand on the small of her back, a comforting touch, and she opened her bright blue eyes to see Harry's emerald green ones looking into hers. On his lips was that same smile which drew her in in the first place. Before she could think, she placed her hands on his cheeks and pulled herself against him, their lips moving fervently and passionately. Harry wrapped his arms around her midsection and deepened the kiss. All the sickness she had felt the past days disappeared, and she almost melted into him. Her lover. Harry broke off the kiss and leant a little back. His eyes roamed her head and her body, taking in the sight.

"I must've died and gone to Heaven, because you look positively angelic tonight," he muttered breathily in French, and gently touched his thumb to her chin.

Fleur's breathing picked up, as did her heartrate. He could affect her in ways no other had ever been able to, and it excited her.

"You must have gone to Hell instead," she replied, "because you look devilishly handsome."

It was true, he really did. He wore a completely black suit of fine silks and cottons, shiny black oxfords and belt, finished with polished steel cufflinks, as silver would have been hard to wear without making someone, especially he himself, uncomfortable. His hair was recently styled, being short on the sides and textured on the top. He was, altogether, very handsome, and Fleur felt a spark of desire inside her.

"I trust you're familiar with the dance?" Harry asked her.

"Y–yes," she didn't mean to stammer, but his very presence did something to her.

"Good," Harry smirked. "I plan on spending as much time with you tonight as possible."

"Champions, take your positions!" they both heard the stern voice of McGonagall, and the champions did as asked.

People everywhere started whispering when they caught a glimpse of Harry.

"Where've you been?" Cedric leant back and asked in a hushed tone.

"About," Harry replied, his eyes never leaving Fleur, who was happy that her makeup hid her furious blush.

She wasn't used to being the one on the receiving end of such charms, and she wondered if it had something to do with Harry being a werewolf. Just as Cedric was about to ask further, the doors opened, and he stood up straight, not noticing his date, Cho, looking enviously at Harry. The champions waited until the rest of the school's population had entered the great hall, and then marched in. Harry and Fleur both wore stoic expressions, both having received training in formality and etiquette since childhood. They made their way to their designated tables and sat down.

The feast was brief, and neither Harry nor Fleur had anything to eat. Fleur felt unwell sitting next to a murderer, despite knowing that she actually meant a great deal to him, if his letter was true. Harry, on the other hand, had eaten before he came back to Hogwarts, and he could go for two or three days without feeling hunger when he didn't excessively use his lycanthropic abilities. When the feast ended, Harry stood and held his hand out for Fleur to take, with a serene smile on his face. She took it and stood up and followed him onto the dance floor. A band had been hired to play the music, and the first song was of decent tempo and taste, more akin to a sonata by Mozart than a ballad by Metallica, as the appearance of the band seemed to suggest.

Harry and Fleur expertly twirled around, stepping and twisting in tune to the music in perfect synchronisation whilst their eyes never left each other, nor did their smiles falter. They danced on and on, five songs in, when the rest had joined the floor, Harry and Fleur still danced perfectly synchronised to every tune, every beat and rhythm. That was the years of childhood training carrying them through the motions, from Waltz to Tango. Harry and Fleur quickly dominated the dancefloor, and all eyes were on them. They just responded to the music and switched dancing styles. After ten dances, however, Fleur was breathing heavily, her chest heaving as she was leant backwards over Harry's arm holding her up effortlessly. The two stared longingly into each other's eyes, as people around them applauded. Harry then pulled her back upright, not the slightest bit winded compared to Fleur's heavy breathing. And then in front of the whole school, he pulled her close and kissed her with a passion he had never felt before. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned it just as passionately, to the sound of clapping, whistling and cheering. They broke apart, and Harry gently guided her towards a table where they sat down as other people started dancing excitedly.

Harry poured his date and himself a glass of wine, and they both sat in silence and sipped their drinks, constantly sending each other looks Harry would have scoffed at before he met her. When they finished their glasses, Harry stood and guided her out of the great hall, and up the stairs of the castle.

"Where are we going?" she asked longingly. Harry could hear the arousal in her voice.

"Somewhere private," he said, and when they reached the seventh floor, he guided her down an empty hallway, before leaving her in front of a bare wall. He paced past it thrice, much to Fleur's confusion, until she saw a door materialise in the previously solid wall. Harry took her hand and guided her inside.

The room was dark, with the exception of a large fireplace lighting up a portion of it, as well as occasional candles floating in the air above them. There was a large bed with red velvet sheets and pillows. Fleur knew where it was going, and it couldn't come fast enough. She practically assaulted Harry with deep, sensual kisses as she started undoing his tie and shirt. Harry rustled off his jacket and tie and pulled off his shirt. Fleur unbuckled his belt as he reached up and pulled the straps of her dress off her shoulders, then gently pulled her dress down. He kicked off his shoes and sat back on the bed to pull off his pants. A soon as they were off, Fleur sat down on his lap, kicked off her heels, and pulled his head to her own, continuing where they left off. Her unoccupied hand roamed his muscled shoulders and chest, as his left hand pulled off his socks while his right caressed her bare back. He then put his arm around her firm posterior and lifted her up whilst scooting back. The couple was soon completely in the nude, their burning hot bodies writhing against one another in a fit of passion neither had ever felt before.

•••

Fleur lay cradled in Harry's arms, her fingers lazily tracing invisible patterns on his chest as his left hand caressed her loosened and tousled hair and his right hand rested on her elbow. Neither wanted to ever leave that bed, but Harry knew that he had to. Voldemort and those who supported him were out there, and he had a war to win. And as he had spent his days at Hogwarts, it had occurred to him that he fought it, not only for himself, but for the wizarding world as well. He had mocked Crouch for the very idea that he cared for anyone but himself and his revenge, but it had been a lie, even then. And in his arms, he had come to realise, was the strongest reason he wanted to defeat Voldemort. Avenging his parents had become the second most important reason.

"When will you leave again?" Fleur asked in a hoarse whisper. Harry noticed that silent tears were rolling down her face and onto his chest.

"In a few hours, at the latest," Harry said, and kissed the top of her head. "I think I'm correct in assuming that you've begun reading the Daily Prophet."

"You are."

"I'm sending a message," Harry calmly explained. "I know how you felt, sitting next to me at the table."

"How could y–"

"'I'm sitting next to a murderer. A monster. A beast.' Something like that, am I right?"

Fleur was quiet, but nodded, her eyes closing and pushing out a few more tears.

"But that's the reality of war, Fleur," Harry said, and she noticed that his voice wavered just the slightest bit. "It all starts somewhere, and this is how the Second Wizarding War is going to start. Last time, we were on the receiving end, and it was only when Voldemort somehow was defeated when he attacked me that we didn't lose it. They were winning, Fleur, winning big. And Voldemort had, and still has his sights on not just Britain, but the whole world. Even if you decide to want nothing to do with me and my efforts to stop him, he will eventually expand to France, if I fail. But don't think I enjoy it, Fleur. I'd rather have lived in a world free of Voldemort, growing up a normal wizard with my parents, maybe see you and admire you in the tournament from afar. I would have been a nobody, and it would have been quiet and lovely. I'd get to grow up, get a job, get married, have children, then die of old age amongst family. But I don't have a family, and I will never die of natural causes."

"You might just have started one," Fleur whispered in his ear, with a small, weak smile as she felt the result of his love slowly drip out of her.

"Unlikely, but maybe," he admitted.

Fleur quieted and laid her head back on his chest.

"I wouldn't mind it."

"I'm just fourteen, and you're just seventeen. I think taking things slowly would be best. That said, there's nothing I would love more than to grow old with you, and have children, grandchildren… but if I survive this war, I'll have to leave, all the same."

"Why?"

"I'm a monster. No matter what, there will be wizards who'll want to see me dead. I may go down in history as the hero who saved the wizarding world from Voldemort, but it will be as a beast who fought on the side of good for his own personal revenge for the murder of his parents, not as a man who stood up for his convictions and those who were too weak to fend for themselves."

"Is that how you want to be remembered?" she sat up, the sheet gliding off her body. "As the lesser of two evils?"

"I am the lesser of two evils, Fleur. It's how I was raised, and that can never be undone. I have the natural instincts of a killer, and I will be haunted by that for as long as I try to lead a civilian life. I will imagine danger where there is none, fight the unreal. I would be a danger to people around me. There are still things I need to do before I can kill Voldemort. And I have no way of finding him. So I have to lure him out."

"So those killings this month…"

"They were bait. All of them affiliated with Death Eaters, either by being members of the old regime or active supporters."

"The Jacques family is notorious in Paris for being dark wizards, or at least close to it. Did you know that?"

"I didn't," Harry admitted, "but I knew that Briveaux Jacques served as a line of communication between the Death Eaters and Voldemort supporters in France. He also arranged for the transport of blood–purists into the country to be recruited as Death Eaters in the first war."

"They do that?" Fleur asked, laid back down and looked up at his face. Her eyes were red and swollen, and some of her makeup had been coming off for a while, especially her mascara considering her tears and sweat.

"They did, and I suspect they're going to start doing it again," Harry confirmed. "They had operations like that with Germany, Spain, Italy, Portugal, and Poland as well, as far as I've been able to uncover. I still haven't found those 'ambassadors' yet, though, so nothing's certain. So, thus far, I've eliminated one of six potential influxes of new Death Eater candidates. I need as many preemptive strikes as I can get."

Harry looked at the clock hanging above the fireplace. It was almost two at night. He kissed Fleur and stood out of bed, not bothering to cover his modesty. He walked over to the fire and stuck his hand in it, barely flinching. He held it there for twenty seconds, before he pulled it out and walked back to Fleur. He held out his arm as the burn marks slowly receded to a state before he had burnt himself. Soon, there was nothing left except the soot.

"This is why I will be feared," he said as his eyes started glowing yellow in the dim light of the room. "I may be slightly human still, but no one would be able to tell. I am a creature of destructive urges. Mating," he gestured at Fleur, "killing, maiming, hunting. I'll never be able to let it go. It's part of me."

"And I will be fine with it," Fleur said and stood up from the bed as well. "I can live with whatever it is you fear will drive me away, Harry."

She walked around the bed and up to him, and pressed herself against him, her red eyes looking up into his glowing yellow ones.

"If you have to be a killer, then I will find a way to deal with that! You don't kill people who don't deserve it, after all!"

"It's not that simple," he said calmly, though his eyes told a different story as to his emotional state. "I'm not fully human, nor fully a werewolf. There is a third part to me."

"What is that?"

"I'm part vampire as well. And when all this is done, I'm becoming a full–fledged vampire. I will have to feed on the blood of the living, and I can't casually differentiate between God–fearing motorcycle clubs, and Devil–worshipping biker gangs. I will have to feed off innocent people as well."

Fleur almost took a step back, but she quickly reconsidered, and snaked her arms around his neck.

"I'll deal with it. Just don't leave me."

Harry felt a lone tear push out of his eye, roll down his cheek and fall onto her shoulder. Harry returned the embrace, the embrace of his lover.

•••

Harry walked through the castle along with Fleur at five in the morning. Neither had gotten much sleep, though Harry was far less affected by it when compared to Fleur, who looked ready to nod off any second. The Room of Requirement had graciously provided a rather lovely bath for them, comparable to the Prefect's bathroom on the fifth floor, even. They walked hand–in–hand, dreading having to part minutes later. They walked outside into the dark morning, filled with snow. Harry gave Fleur his jacket, which she graciously accepted. He walked her back to the Beauxbatons carriage, where she turned her head to look at him longingly. He nodded, as did she, and she walked inside. They had said their goodbyes. Harry turned around and headed towards the gate to the castle grounds.

"Harry!"

Said boy turned to see Ginny, Hermione and Ron come storming towards him.

"Hey," he said calmly, only to be slapped hard by Ginny, much to everyone's surprise. Of course, it did little but leave her hand stinging. She was a thirteen–year–old girl, after all, and not one who trained her strength, or martial arts. "What?"

"You kissed her!" she exclaimed loudly, tears welling up in her eyes.

"You and I aren't in a relationship, Ginny," Harry said calmly. "I can kiss whoever I want. And you just made me break my promise to your father."

"Why did you keep it, anyway!? You just stopped talking to us!"

"That's the nature of a promise, Ginny," Harry said as if he were explaining first–grade calculus to Albert Einstein.

"But you don't have morals, why did you do it!?"

Harry's eyes narrowed.

"I do have morals. I don't hit children. I don't rape. I don't steal unless I absolutely have to. I don't kill those who don't deserve it. You know, basic stuff."

"But you kill! That means you're basically a rogue, right!?"

"No, it means I'm a killer," Harry deadpanned. "Not all rapists are killers, just as not all killers are rapists. You don't call a thief a murderer, just as you don't call an adulterer a smuggler."

"Ginny, calm down!" Ron shouted.

"Shut up, Ronald!" she turned and yelled back, but when she turned around to scream at Harry again, her face was struck with a mild slap.

"That's no way to treat your brother," Harry said coldly. "He's your family, and there's just one of him. Cherish him while you can," Harry turned around and climbed over the gate in seconds. "He might be gone one day."

With that, Harry walked down the forest gravel road, hands in his pockets. Ginny put her hand to her cheek, where Harry had slapped her, and tears started welling up in her eyes, until the dam burst, and she turned to run back to the castle, crying her eyes out. Ron and Hermione looked at each other with the same expression, one that said 'what on Earth is going on?'

Spreading Rumours

Harry sat calmly in the large, extravagant hall, dressed in a tuxedo and looking like a dapper gentleman. He was seated next to his mistress, known to the Kindred of London as Linda Watson. Harry was quiet and stoic, but sat with his back straight and looking alert, attentive, as a proper ghoul vassal should. His eyes scanned the crowd, making sure that he had a decent grasp on the other Kindred and their ghouls. Queen Anne had decided to hold Elysium on New Year's Eve, so as the fireworks were blasting off in the distance, the Kindred were mingling, some accompanied by their ghouls. Linda sat and looked somewhat bored. She had attended the ball for Harry so that he could observe and mingle. What she didn't do for him. But it worked to her advantage, as well. If Dee was to claim praxis, she could walk openly and attend her own aims and goals. And she wanted Harry to be successful in his Kindred life. Harry leant over and whispered in her ear.

"Can you see Bowesley?"

She nodded and gestured at a woman standing amongst a group of Kindred. She did seem somewhat… mild, to Harry, at first. At only five feet tall, Queen Anne was small with delicate features and chestnut hair tied in a bun. Casual observers would likely mistake Anne for an elegant and well-heeled matriarch. But Harry knew better, and saw a confident and powerful woman. She caught his eyes staring at her, and he quickly diverted them. He thought it would be best not to arouse suspicion, but he cursed himself internally when she came over to them at their table.

"Good evening," she said to Meerlinda with a courteous tone. "You haven't been in London for long, no?"

"Linda Watson," Meerlinda greeted. "And no, I haven't. My ghoul and I arrived just a few nights ago. I was hoping to take this time to introduce myself, and ask you permission to establish a haven in the city. My ghoul is originally from here, and I was intrigued by the things he had to tell me of the place."

"I'm sorry, when did you live here?" Queen Anne then turned to Harry, who feigned fear and not daring to look at her, in the hopes of deceiving her.

"I, uhm… I was, uh, born in Surry, in 1745. Me father, Vernon, he sent me here to, ah, work in a factory."

"I see," she nodded thoughtfully. "And how did you come to serve Linda Watson?"

"My foreman, he, eh, sold me off. To a ship's captain as, ah, a moneyboy. I met Mistress Linda in France, in 1761."

"A moneyboy?" Queen Anne seemed sceptical. "Well, you certainly do clean up nicely." She turned to Meerlinda. "Would you mind if I had a conversation with your ghoul?"

Meerlinda looked between Harry and Anne, then shook her head.

"Marvellous," Queen Anne said and took Harry by the arm. "Come on…"

"Er, Harrison. Harrison Evans."

"Harry, then."

Harry didn't have to fake the swallow that came from his throat, as she dragged him off. She took his arm, and he acted like he was stumbling to perform as a gentleman should.

"So, Harry. Do you find me beautiful? I saw you staring at me."

"Er, yes, my Pri– ah, Lady Anne. I find you, e–very, beautiful."

"Why thank you!" she said with a fake appreciation. "I must say, you are quiet the dashing young man yourself. Of course, appearance–wise."

"Eh, of course."

Harry thought his charade was going well, but he had the feeling Queen Anne saw right through it.

"So, has your mistress been busy teaching you our ways and customs, or are you merely a toy to satisfy her?"

"I, er, I'm her bodyguard, and uh, yeah, she's been teaching me the, er, customs."

"So of course you could dictate me the third Tradition, no?"

"It's the, ah... Accounting, rig– no wait... Progeny?"

"Exactly," Queen Anne said, and stopped Harry as they stood on the balcony overlooking a smaller district of London. "You don't strike me as the type of ghoul who would have trouble remembering things, however," her eyes narrowed. "Nor do you seem like you would truly be so frightened as to not speak properly. Stop acting, Harry."

Harry stared at her with wide eyes for a moment, but then he calmed down considerably.

"Very well. If you insist, Queen Bowesley."

"Much better. Now, did she actually pick you up in France in 1761?"

"No, she didn't. She found me in Constantinople in 1488, in Galata."

"And were you a moneyboy?"

"No. I was an apprentice shipbuilder. If you see an Ottoman ship in a museum from that time–period, I most likely worked on it."

"Impressive. And of course you can perfectly recite the Traditions, can't you?"

"Masquerade, Domain, Progeny, Accounting, Hospitality and Destruction."

"Perfect. And you know that I'm not to be trifled with."

"You're a Ventrue, and you were seneschal to Prince Mithras for some of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, until he disappeared in World War II."

"Very good," she nodded. "Now, if I were to offer you to become my ghoul instead, and I have Linda hand you over, would you accept it?"

"Depends on the deal you're willing to give me," Harry said, his eyes and face cold. "I'm only in service to Mistress Linda when she calls for me. Until she does, I can do as I please."

"I would be willing to give you the same deal, but I can do you one better," she muttered and leant close, her lips right next to his ear. "How would you like to be the first ghoul Scourge of London?"

She stood closely, pressed against him. He was quiet as he thought it over, then stiffly nodded. Queen Anne smiled and then licked his earlobe seductively.

"I think you and I are going to get along just fine," she whispered again. "Come meet me here when you're released from Linda's service and have packed your belongings. I'll make sure you receive a very warm welcome."

She then unlatched from him and proudly walked away. Harry felt the need to smoke a cigarette, so he pulled one out from his pocket and lit it up. He placed his hands on the smooth stone railing, and looked out over the city. He smoked two cigarettes before Meerlinda came out to see him.

"What are you thinking!?" she hissed at him. "You said you'd never leave!"

"It's an update of the plan," Harry calmly stated. "At first, I was just hoping to be able to get to know some of her ghouls. But if I can get close to her, personally, the proceedings would go much quicker and smoother, and she's agreed to have me be the scourge."

"A ghoul scourge!?"

"Yes," Harry said. "Using that position, I can get a better look at what really goes on in London's underground, and especially with her and her holdings. She also says that I'm 'off the clock' until she needs me to do something. If she tries to back out, I'll run. She can neither enter, nor even find the chantry. Dumbledore made me the secret keeper, and I have no intention of telling her where it is."

Meerlinda looked at Harry for a little while, clearly angry with him.

"Fine," she finally relented.

"Good," Harry said and scanned the crowd for anyone watching them. When he found none, he chastely kissed her on the cheek. "I'll take care of myself."

Meerlinda nodded solemnly, and then went back inside to tell Queen Anne of her decision. Harry turned back to the view of the city, and considered this change in his plans. How he could benefit from it, and how he would make sure to be at Hogwarts for the other tasks. His mind then wandered to Fleur, and especially their night together at the Yule Ball. He wanted so desperately to hold her in his arms again. But he was a soldier in a war much bigger than himself. He had to make sacrifices, and he would.

He heard the quiet footsteps of Queen Anne return, surprising since she was wearing heels and an immaculate red dress, which fit her just right, and wearing a shawl over her exposed shoulders. She walked behind Harry, who tensed up when her finger ran across his back, downwards and then placed her hand on his left buttock. She gave it a firm squeeze.

"That was quick," she drawled out.

"Linda Watson is a Kindred quick to make up her mind," Harry said stoically.

"Well, since you're mine, I suggest you follow me."

She turned and walked off, and Harry begrudgingly followed. She led him from the ballroom and into a large, lavish bedroom with a king–sized bed and four women, all presumably ghouls, waiting. Queen Anne led Harry to the bed and pushed him down on it. With a snap of her fingers, the four ghouls immediately undressed, and crawled onto the bed with him.

I'm sorry, Fleur.

He let the ghouls unclothe him as Queen Anne retreated behind a screen where two additional ghouls waited to undress her as well. One of the handmaidens, Harry presumed, sat on her knees on the floor in front of him, between his legs. He drew in a sharp breath of air as the clearly experienced woman went to work on him, and as the other women caressed his muscles, kissed his neck, ran their fingers through his hair. He knew exactly what this was; it was a favour to make him much more pliable to do as she ordered him. The promise of bliss for good services rendered. Soon, the prince of London stepped out from behind the screen wearing nothing but an open silk robe. The ghouls grabbed him and dragged him further up on the bed as the one between his legs let go of him. Queen Anne then crawled up on the bed and positioned her own pelvis on his, and started grinding their hips against one another. She felt warm to the touch, but not overly so, just like Meerlinda. Soon, the scent of vitae reached his nose, and she lifted herself up before guiding him into her, with a sigh of guilt–ridden pleasure escaping his mouth, which was swiftly occupied by a servant.

•••

Harry walked down the street of Diagon Alley at night, disguised with brown hair and brown eyes this time, and wearing black jeans, a black hoodie with the hood pulled up, and a utility jacket over that. He headed down into Knockturn Alley, and stuck close to the walls, his eyes averted from anyone passing him. He made it into a small, dirty bar which was known for selling drinks with illegal ingredients. Ingredients from endangered magical beasts, which made the bar frequented by rich, dark families. He walked over and sat in a corner. Without anyone noticing, he silently conjured and placed a pre–prepared a bundle of C4 under his seat and armed it. He then walked over to the bar counter.

"I'd like a Unicorn's Blood, please," he muttered.

The bartender sized him up, and then went to mixing the drink. It didn't contain actual unicorn's blood, but it did contain a little dragon's blood, a dissolved solution of unicorn horn, some Firewhiskey, and a few drops of Skele–Gro. Whilst it might have seemed like an arbitrary mix, it actually went well together, and it had the added bonus of increased vitality and bone–repair, for those who had recently been in an accident. Harry accepted the drink and placed four galleons on the counter, which the bartender gladly took and placed in the registry. Harry sipped the drink slowly, making sure to not seem anymore suspicious than any other wizard or witch in there. When he was done, he placed the glass back on the counter and went to the loo. He then made sure no one was in there when he planted the other bundle of C4. He then left the pub, but he threw the last bundle inside, making sure the blast was spread equally around the bar. He then pressed the detonator in his pocket, and the bar blew up right as he rounded a corner. He walked away, his face calm and unflinching.

•••

Fleur put down the Daily Prophet with a heavy heart. Eleven witches and wizards killed in an explosion in Knockturn Alley the previous night, no survivors. She rubbed her eyes, but she knew what was going on. Harry had even directly told her. It was war, and war had casualties. Students were being pulled out of school, their parents wanting them home and safe. Of course, Fleur realised, that would be a counterintuitive effort, as nowhere was as safe as Hogwarts, apparently. Mostly Slytherins were being taken out of school, but a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs as well. She looked up at the staff table, and saw Dumbledore read the news as well. He did seem tired, looking at the picture of the destroyed and burning building. He rubbed his own eyes as well, and McGonagall next to him seemed saddened. Fleur then looked over at the Gryffindor table, and saw the Weasleys and Hermione gathered around an issue, all pale as sheets. Hogwarts, it seemed, was losing it's population at a rather swift rate, and it's morale as well.

•••

Harry sat down in an office, across from Queen Anne.

"So, how are things in my domain?" she asked with a small smile. "It's been a month since you took your office, I hope the time has been well–spent acquainting yourself with the order of the night."

"Things are as they have been when I first became scourge, my Lady," Harry said and bowed his head. "There are rumours going around that a Sabbat pack has come to London, and I am having the Sheriff validating the rumours as we speak. If they turn out to be true, I will request that you lend me the Sheriff and his hounds to go take them down."

"Well done, Harry," she drawled. "I expected no less from such an old ghoul."

"Thank you, my Lady. There is a matter which has come to my attention, though."

"What is it?"

"A member of my family, a descendant of my late brother's, has fallen terminally ill. He is expected to perish somewhere between now and March. I should like to attend his funeral in Scotland when the time comes."

"I thought your former domitor found you in Constantinople?" she said with narrowed eyes.

"She did, my Lady. I was born in Swansea, Wales, in 1472. My family was poor, so a friend of my father's took me with him to lessen the strain on my family. I was the oldest, so I had to be the one to go. We arrived on Sicily in 1479, then in Constantinople in 1482."

"And yet, you still desire to attend this estranged family's funerals?"

"They might have sent me away, but they're still family."

"Well, I was under the impression you were an emotionless killer."

"I never said I wasn't a good killer," Harry commented. "But family is the greatest concept in which I hold belief."

She scrutinised him for a few minutes.

"Fine. Let me know when it happens."

"Of course," he said with a nod, then stood up from the chair and turned to leave the room.

"And Harry?"

He stopped and turned around.

"If I learn you abuse your position so close to me… I suspect you have an inkling of what will happen to you," she said with a sweet smile.

Harry was acutely aware of the threat to his life if she knew he was spreading rumours of her as a diablerist. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and a cold shiver run down his spine. He thought she might be well–versed in using her very presence as a tool, seeing as she was a Ventrue, but this sensation, he suspected, was merely an actual fear towards her, entirely natural and on his part. He nodded and left the room.

•••

Harry walked down the streets of London, enjoying the fresh night air of January from under his short winter coat. The snow lay thickly on the ground, and he wondered how beautiful Fleur would look in the snow, illuminated only by the light of the full moon, her hair shining as brightly as the snow. Her deep, blue eyes looking longingly into his own, and her smile at seeing him. He felt a vice around his heart as he walked down the street, his mind resting on Fleur. A small, sad smile crept onto his lips, and a single tear left his eye, but he quickly wiped it away. He walked until he reached a certain pub, where he would meet a contact who claimed to have incriminating evidence on Anne. Harry looked around, made sure no one was looking, then withdrew his wand and looked into the reflection of a darkened window, using it as a mirror whilst he began transfiguring his appearance. His vampiric disguises could be pierced with sharp enough senses, but if there was no obfuscation to pierce, they couldn't glean his true appearance. When he felt like it was good enough, with light brown hair, brown eyes, no scar, and a changed facial structure, he entered the pub.

He looked around, and found a black man sitting in a booth by himself, his eyes trained on Harry. Harry walked over and sat down across from him. They spent a full minute in silence, sizing each other up and down.

"Monty Coven, I presume," Harry nodded at the Jamaican.

"Harrison Evans," Coven retuned the nod.

"I understand that you have evidence of a certain someone's less–than–legal activities."

"I do."

"Mind showing it?"

Coven pulled a few photographs out of his pocket and placed them on the table. Harry picked them up and studied them closely. They were stills of footage, and clearly depicted Anne drinking of a vampire, until the last still showed a cloud of ash where the vampire had been. Harry looked up at Coven.

"What do you want in return for a copy of the footage?"

"You don't want the original footage?" Coven asked with a disturbing grin.

"It doesn't matter if it's the original or not," Harry stated. "Just that I have it. Name your price."

Coven's grin widened a little.

"Three boons."

Harry's eyes narrowed.

"I have a few conditions."

"Such as?"

"I will not do anything harmful or lethal, whether physically, verbally, psychologically or politically against people I know and care about. If you recorded this conversation, delete any and all evidence of it. If you have people here watching us, make sure they don't talk. Don't mention this to anyone. And please, try to leak just a little about the Prince's activities here and there. Spread it slowly."

"Seems fair enough."

"Then it was a pleasure doing business with you," Harry said and stretched out his hand.

"Same," Coven said and shook the teen's hand.

Coven then reached into another pocket and pulled out a CD in a case. Harry accepted it and placed it in his inner pocket.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Harry asked.

"Certainly, but a pint of vitae is quite expensive here."

"Money isn't an issue," Harry said as he waved over a waitress. "Yes, I'd like a scotch, one cube, and a pint of the red, please."

"Sure," the rather young–looking woman said with a flirtatious grin, wink, and a seductive sway in her hips as she walked away, but Harry didn't pay attention to it.

"Seems like you're popular with the ladies," Coven smiled, still quite disturbingly, but Harry ignored that quality.

"I suppose," Harry shrugged, "but I'm already spoken for."

"The first ghoul scourge of London has a girlfriend?" Coven asked, amused.

"Yeah, she's called 'the job'," Harry smirked, a little on guard by the fact that Coven had instantly realised who he was.

"You take your duties very seriously for someone who just bought blackmail material on his domitor and Prince."

"I do quite like my job. I just don't really like my current boss."

"And who would you prefer?"

"Don't know," Harry said as the waitress placed their drinks in front of them, sent Harry a wink, and left. "We'll see who takes office."

"I don't buy it."

"Good thing I'm not selling it, then," Harry smirked and took a sip of his scotch, making Coven smile a bit wider.

"How interesting," the Jamaican muttered before taking a sip of the vitae.

"I know. I think we could be successful business partners again, sometime."

"We'll see."

The Second Task

February 24th arrived, and Fleur stood outside by the lake, wearing a light, satin robe over her silver swimsuit. Cedric Diggory wore a pair of black trunks and a yellow muscle shirt with the Hogwarts crest on it, and Viktor Krum wore red trunks with a beige muscle shirt with the Durmstrang crest on it. The task was about to begin, and Harry was nowhere to be seen. She was getting worried that something might have happened to him. Dumbledore paced in front of the champions. Only two minutes until the task started.

"Sorry I'm late!" a familiar voice called out, and everyone turned to see Harry come running towards the gathered schools.

"Good of you to join us, Mr Potter," Dumbledore said with relief.

Harry quickly pulled off his jacket, shirt, shoes and pants to reveal the same uniform for the task Cedric wore, only red being exchanged with yellow. He also had a sheath with his wand on his left leg, and a sheath with a military–issue knife of stainless steel on the other. He walked over next to Cedric, and sent Fleur a small wink and smile. Not a single one of the students seemed happy that he was there, not even the Weasleys, though it was apparent to Harry why that was; both Ron and Hermione were missing. Fleur, though, smiled at him. She had missed him. Cedric smiled as well, and clapped Harry on the shoulder, a gesture which Harry returned.

"Champions!" Dumbledore called out. "Something has been taken, something which must be retrieved. You have one hour to retrieve it, or you will have failed the task and the object will be lost. You may begin when the cannon fires!"

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a green substance looking like seaweed. He then stuffed it in his mouth and chewed it thoroughly, before swallowing. He then stood quietly, until the cannon fired. All the champions walked into the water and dove into it. Harry felt the rather uncomfortable transformation of his fingers and feet, gaining webbing and fins for feet. He also grew gills, allowing him to breathe underwater. Harry absolutely disliked being submerged in water, and the gills did take some time to get used to, but he was otherwise fine. He started swimming, going out to the point where the lake took a steep decline, and he dove down. Fortunately, he had also been granted the inner organ regulating pressure in marine life. If it hadn't been for the fact that he had vaguely remembered a short conversation with Neville about gillyweed, he would have been miserably unable to compete. He could hold his breath for long, and he could use magic to enhance his body's ability to burn oxygen more slowly, but he would have to remain stationary to do so.

He saw perfectly in the darkness of the water, thanks to his glowing yellow eyes. Harry noticed that he had left the other champions behind, but he felt no need to seek them out. It was a tournament, after all. He swam for minutes, though it certainly did seem like hours. He then came across something he never though he would see: a small village of houses with front lawns and merpeople going about their daily lives, almost like humans would. They even had grindylows on leashes like dogs, and fences made of stone. He was utterly fascinated by the colony, but shook his head. He had to focus. He saw a merperson close by, though he was unable to identify which gender it was. He swam over.

"Do you know where the hostages are?" he tried to ask, but only bubbles and indistinguishable sounds came out of his mouth.

The merperson looked at Harry with apprehension, their skin greyish, eyes yellow, and their teeth crooked and broken in places. Harry sighed, releasing another stream of bubbles, and then turned and swam on. He soon saw a large figure of stone resembling a merman. At least, that's what Harry thought it was supposed to resemble. And tied to the (presumed) tail, he distinctly made out the shapes of four humans. He started kicking towards them with renewed vigour. He soon noticed the mermen surrounding the hostages, and he stopped, his narrow eyes scrutinizing them. His hand moved towards his knife, and when he pulled it, they made no move against him. He started carefully swimming towards the hostages, and none stopped him. So he easily cut the string of seaweed holding Ron tied to the statue's tail. He then noticed that the others were Cho Chang, a fifth year Ravenclaw who accompanied Cedric to the Yule Ball, Hermione (likely for Krum), and a small girl with silver–blond hair who was definitely Fleur's sister, eleven–year–old Gabrielle.

Harry was a little worried, if he were honest. He decided he wouldn't leave until he made sure every hostage was out of the water. The mermen guarding the captives did seem somewhat confused, but didn't press it. Harry noticed a form approaching in the distance, and soon it became apparent that it was Cedric. He swam somewhat slowly, though Harry did have fins for feet and superhuman leg–strength, so he did have a significant speed advantage. Cedric came close, and Harry noticed the bubble around his head, distorting and twisting his face.

He mouthed something, and being perfectly able to read lips, he saw 'Got lost, Krum and Fleur are coming'. He then pulled out a small knife from his pocket and cut the bonds keeping Cho, before making his way to the surface. Harry, however, was aware of the possibility that one of them didn't make it. Soon, Krum came by, and Harry snorted, bubbles blowing out of his nose, when he saw the crude transfiguration Krum had performed on his own head. It had become that of a shark, barely, and he used his new teeth to try and sever the seaweed.

"Idiot!" Harry called out, and Krum turned to him.

Harry started performing actual international sign language, but Krum shook his head, not understanding it one bit. Harry sighed, then pointed at Krum's teeth, at the seaweed, then crossed his arms. He then pointed at the shark teeth, then at Hermione's legs, and then made a 'thumbs up'. In short, 'your teeth are fucking useless for anything not made of flesh and bone, you fucking idiot'. Krum shrugged.

"Fucking Hell!" Harry bubbled out, and pulled his knife from it's sheath and handed it to Krum.

Krum accepted it and cut Hermione's bonds before handing the knife back, taking Hermione by the waist, and pulling her up.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Harry bubbled a mutter to himself.

He looked at his watch. The time was almost up, as was the time of the duration of the gillyweed. Harry, before any of the mermen could react or do anything about it, pulled his knife, cut Gabrielle's bonds, and then sheathed his knife before pulling out his wand and pointing it at the mermen, who pointed their spears at him. Harry put on his face reading 'I will fucking hex you if you don't get out of my way', and the mermen actually seemed very frightened of his wand. He snaked his arms into those of the two captives, and then started kicking for the surface, and he felt the gillyweed starting to lose it's effects. He had to fight a little to reach the surface, but his superior leg power was enough to get him up before he ran out of oxygen. He took shallow breaths, and exhaled shallowly to avoid shallow water blackout, and made sure that Gabrielle was mostly above water, since she seemed to try and doggie paddle. She clearly wasn't an Olympic medallist, that was certain. Ron swam just fine, even though he was weighed down somewhat by his robes.

"You good?" Harry called at his best friend.

"I'm good, mate," Ron returned. "Thanks, though."

"Always."

Harry then pulled the slightly panicking Gabrielle onto his back and placed her arms around his throat, carrying her on his back as the pair swam back towards the lakeside.

"Don't worry," he spoke to her in French. "I've got you. You're safe, no need to panic."

Gabrielle just nodded and held onto him for dear life. Harry kept a reassuring hand on her arms whilst he swam, and kept talking to her in French, trying to keep her calm. She did seem to relax over the course of the swim back to shore, and when Harry could touch ground, he pried her off, ducked under the surface, and placed his head between her legs so he was carrying her on his shoulders, like parents so often did with their young kids. Gabrielle blushed heavily, but couldn't stop smiling as Harry walked with her on his shoulders. Fleur stood and watched with tears of joy as she saw her lover carrying a perfectly fine Gabrielle back onto shore. She came walking towards them as Harry knelt down so Gabrielle could climb off. He was surprised when Gabrielle quickly spun around and threw her arms around him.

"Thank you, monsieur! Thank you!" she kept saying, her arms wound tightly around his neck.

Harry merely returned the embrace with a chuckle.

"How could anyone leave such a beautiful princess at the bottom of a lake?" he asked when she let go, and lightly touched his index finger to her nose, making her giggle and pull back to clutch her sister.

"Thank you, Harry," Fleur breathed with red, swollen eyes and a sad smile. "Thank you so much."

"It was the least I could do," he muttered as she pulled him into an embrace as well, one he passionately returned. When they broke apart, they kissed for a brief moment, and then Fleur took Gabrielle's hand and led her over to Beauxbatons, who were waiting with thick, warm blankets and towels to help dry Gabrielle off. Fleur sent Harry a serene smile, before she turned all her attention to her little sister.

"You staying for long, mate?" Ron asked as he returned, wrapped in a blanket and carrying one for Harry, along with a towel.

"A day or two, a week at most," Harry replied as he graciously accepted the towel and started drying off. "I have other matters to attend to, now."

"Like what?"

"Like making sure war doesn't break out in London," he chuckled.

"I thought you were going to start the war," Ron asked with confusion.

"I am, it's another war entirely I'm trying to prevent. One between two groups of vampires."

"Vampires?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "My guardian's one, and her blood was used in the same ritual that made me part werewolf."

"You're part vampire, too!?"

"Yeah, but keep that to yourself and your family. And Hermione."

"Yea, sure mate," Ron said and handed Harry the large blanket after he had dried off enough. "I just miss having you around, you know?"

"I know," Harry smiled at his best friend. "I feel the same. But in war, you have to make personal sacrifices. And since I'm at the lead of this war, being the only one Voldemort couldn't kill, I will have to make the most."

"What'd you mean?"

"He's going to go after everyone I care about. He's going to have the news and Ministry slander me, brand me a liar, an outcast, even a terrorist if it's ever discovered I'm the one killing Death Eaters and affiliates."

"Hey, that pub…" Ron hesitated, but Harry knew what he meant.

"I spent almost a month staking it out, noting who went in and who left, when and how long they were there. I waited until there were only Death Eaters or Death Eater associates in there. I may be a killer, but I don't hurt innocent bystanders."

"Even the bartender?"

"Rumours swarmed that he helped hide Death Eaters when they were cornered in Diagon Alley. Of course, I couldn't confirm it, but there were others; he peddled in information on Ministry officials and resistance fighters of the last war, smuggled illegal contraband of cursed objects used by Death Eaters, the like. He was a really bad guy, no matter which of them are true."

"Right," Ron nodded. "It's war. I don't know about war, but I trust you."

"And that's a better gift than anything you could have bought me for any sum of money in the world," Harry said and placed an arm around Ron's shoulder. "The only reason I'm telling you this is because I trust you, too."

Ron smiled a little and wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders as well.

"What about Fleur?" Ron asked.

"I'll talk to her later," Harry shrugged. "I think she needs some time with Gabrielle."

Ludo Bagman then stepped forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows… Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points."

There was applause from the schools. Harry looked over and saw Fleur shake her head in defeat. He also read her lips saying 'I deserved zero'.

"Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour." Enormous cheers from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd; Harry saw Cho give Cedric a glowing look. "We therefore award him forty-seven points."

"Well, guess I'm out, then," Harry mused. "If he was over by a minute, I must've been out by a lot."

"Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage. We award him forty points. Harry Potter used gillyweed to great effect," Bagman continued. "He returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Merchieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages, and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own."

Ron gave Harry a half-exasperated, half–commiserating look.

"Most of the judges," Bagman gave Karkaroff a very nasty look, "feel that this shows moral fibre and merits full marks. However… Mr. Potter's score is forty-five points.

"Shit," Harry muttered with a smile. "All that for being a little worried."

Harry couldn't exactly say he was displeased, though — he was now tying for first place with Cedric, as he had been informed of the scores after the first task. Hermione, caught by surprise, stared at Harry, then laughed and started applauding hard with the rest of the crowd.

"There you go, Harry!" Ron shouted over the noise. "You weren't being thick after all — you were showing moral fibre!"

Fleur was clapping very hard too, but Krum didn't look happy at all. He attempted to engage Hermione in conversation again, but she was too busy cheering Harry to listen.

"The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty–fourth of June," continued Bagman. "The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions."

Harry smiled a little. He had a few days to rest at Hogwarts before going back to London, and he would be damned sure that he actually relaxed with his friends. After he went inside to have some hot soup with Ron, of course.

•••

Harry sat beneath the heavy oak tree, with Fleur sitting between his legs in front of him, his arms wrapped around her waist. They just sat there, enjoying each other's company, talking about how things were going.

"It's becoming just a little easier," Fleur muttered with a sombre smile. "Reading the news."

"I'm glad you can deal with it," Harry replied and softly kissed the side of her neck. "Things are heating up in London. If things go according to plan, the vampire ruling the city will be dead and replaced by April or May."

"A vampire controls London?" Fleur asked.

"The vampire population," Harry elaborated. "She does have a few hooks in the muggle world, but they can't help her. When she's gone, I'll be working for the new Prince."

"Doing what?"

"I'll be what you could call the secret police," Harry explained. "I'm the scourge of London under the current Prince, but I'm working to bring her down for another who would become Prince. When he takes office, I'll be his scourge. My job is making sure things are a quiet and peaceful as they can be, and when vampires from another faction moves in on London, I'm the one who has to find them and kill them. You could call them a fanatic, religious cult. There's this legend about the first vampire, and his thirteen grandchilder called the Antediluvians, the vampires created by his progeny. According to myth, they killed their creators and tried to kill him, and now they're sleeping in forgotten tombs around the world. When they wake up, the legend goes, they'll start devouring their spawn, the rest of the vampires in the world. This religious faction calls itself the Sabbat, and they think they're going to be the first vampire's army when he rises to kill the Antediluvians. It's all quite hard to explain."

"Sounds… strange," Fleur admitted.

"You don't need to worry about that. That's my world, one you'll hopefully never have to witness. Death, backstabbing, torture, blackmail, coercion, those are all constants of it. Violence and politics go hand–in–hand."

"That seems awful."

"You get used to it when it's your life. I'm pretty good at it myself, but I don't really think it's something to be proud of. That's what I've been doing for the past months. Other than what you read in the papers."

"You've gotten a lot of students pulled out of Hogwarts with the newspapers. At least one student every week gets taken out of school by their parents, and more than a few Slytherins have been informed that a relative has been killed."

"It's not my fault that the number of Slytherins with Death Eater parents is so high. It's their parents' fault for siding with Voldemort."

"Still," Fleur said. "Every week a Slytherin breaks down in tears at the table when they read the papers."

"I don't care," Harry said slowly. "They chose a side, and now they pay for it. And if I did allow myself to care, I wouldn't be able to do what I have to."

Fleur quieted, as did Harry, who nuzzled Fleur's hair with his face. Fleur leant back and took Harry's hands on her waist, intertwining their fingers.

"I'd like to stay like this forever," she whispered.

"As would I. But we're going to war, and you have to make personal sacrifices at war. This is our sacrifice."

"Then what is your personal sacrifice?" Fleur turned her head and looked at his face, which saddened considerably.

"You. When things heat up, I can't be spending time with you, much to my displeasure. I will have to busy myself with work to destabilise and debilitate Voldemort's forces before he can gain his footing. The sooner his potential forces are gone, the better."

"Which is what you've already been doing," Fleur nodded. "You've been targeting the wizards and witches who fought for him last time, so that his lieutenants would have to spend time recruiting and training new members, which gives the Order and the Ministry breathing room."

"Exactly," Harry smiled. "You're very clever, Fleur. It's one of the things I like the most about you."

"You don't like my looks?" she batted her eyelashes. "You don't like my body, or my face?"

"It's given that I like it," Harry chuckled. "You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Your eyes are like the sky on a cloudless noon sky in midsummer. Your hair is like liquid silver, and your lips," he lowered his voice and drew closer to her face, "are the most perfect shade of pale pink I have ever seen," he whispered, and then captured them in a slow, passionate kiss. "But there's so much more to you," he muttered between kisses. "You're smart," kiss. "You're confident," kiss. "You're courageous," kiss. "And you're all–round wonderful," he finished with a deep, long kiss, making Fleur giggle a little into his mouth, in turn making him chuckle just a little.

•••

It was late the evening Harry left Hogwarts, and having already said his goodbyes, he went to see Albus Dumbledore. Harry stood by the griffin statue and listed off all the desserts and sweets he knew, eventually landing on the right one and being allowed to go up. He had quickly realised the pattern the previous year, and as such had spent a great deal of time in Hogsmeade's local candy store during Hogsmeade weekends memorising the names of the various candies. He entered, only to see a very unwanted person talking to the headmaster, a short creature Harry recognised as a house–elf standing behind him and looking nervously at Harry.

"Well, well," the tall, blond man dawdled. "If it isn't the filthy, bestial subject of our discussion."

"Mr Malfoy," Harry replied coolly. "I didn't expect to see a scumbag like you here at this hour."

"Watch your words, Potter," Lucius said threateningly. "I could have you sent to Azkaban on a whim."

"Your view on power is so very narrow, Mr Malfoy," Harry smirked slightly as he walked over to the phoenix and started caressing the gentle bird. "Being on slightly–better–than–average terms with the Minister of Magic is not so much an advantage as you might believe. You could only send me to Azkaban if you could actually catch me, but the Ministry is so inept, a team of Aurors couldn't capture me."

"As I was saying, Lucius," Dumbledore continued, "I have no intention of expelling Harry Potter. He is a good student, and he hasn't once provoked a fight."

"My son tells a different story," Lucius sneered.

"Your son is a papa's boy who can't stand up for himself," Harry snorted. "'My father will hear of this' here, 'My father will hear of this' there, it all gets very repetitive. But I'll tell you something, Mr Malfoy; if you ever do commit to getting me to Azkaban, I will make sure the Malfoy family is stripped of all wealth, status, rights, et cetera. And I will get you exiled from the United Kingdom."

"As if you have such power," Lucius snorted back. "You're a fourteen–year–old boy."

"But I know how to… motivate people, and more importantly, I know how to find the right people to… motivate."

"Harry doesn't make idle threats, Lucius," Dumbledore stated calmly. "I have no doubt he could very well do it, and even I could not stop him."

"Just remember that when you go running to Voldemort, bawling because you utterly failed at doing anything to The Boy Who Lived," Harry finished, but then turned to Dumbledore. "Didn't you have a book, Headmaster? One with a little hole in it?"

Dumbledore eyed Harry suspiciously, but reached into a drawer.

"Indeed I do," the elderly wizard confirmed and placed said diary on the table.

"See, I asked around a little," Harry commented as he picked up the pierced book and rummaged through it. "Turns out, it was placed in Ginevra Weasley's care whilst you were looking at her newly–purchased books. Now, how wouldn't it look if the Investigation Department of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement came to take a look and determine the thing you gave Ginevra Weasley to be a dangerous, dark object?"

Lucius stiffened, and looked at the book.

"It would never hold," he rasped, clearly angry.

"Oh, but Ginevra would of course testify as to what the book did to her," Harry said. "That is, unless we could come to an arrangement."

Dumbledore and Lucius both stared at Harry.

"I hand the book over to you. You can do whatever you want with it. In return, I will never hear a sound from your miserable throat ever again. Deal?"

Lucius stared at the diary, then at Harry. Then he nodded. Harry held out the book, which Lucius took. He turned it over and examined it very shortly, before thrusting it into the hands of his house–elf.

"Dobby," he said sharply and turned around to leave, insinuating that the elf should follow.

Harry smiled at the terrified elf and mouthed 'open it'. Dobby hesitantly did as wordlessly encouraged, and found a sock inside the book. Lucius noticed that his servant wasn't following and turned to see what was happening. His eyes widened as he saw the sock that the elf held.

"Master presented Dobby with a sock," the elf now known as Dobby muttered in delight, his eyes glistening with newfound joy. "Dobby is free."

Lucius looked ready to shit fury, but Harry smirked.

"We had a deal, Mr Malfoy. Now leave."

Lucius' hand was about to draw his wand, his face beet red and his breathing picking up like a bull getting ready to horn someone, but he just turned around with a furious grunt and left the office. Harry smiled at the elf.

"What'd you want to do now? You could look for work with a nice family, or you might work for the school," but Harry then silenced for a little, Dobby staring up at the man who set the elf free with a reverent expression. "Or you could work for me. I'll pay you a decent wage, you won't be punished," Harry gestured to the bandages around Dobby's hands, "and I'll make sure you have a nice, warm bed to sleep in."

"Dobby would be delighted to work for Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby nodded excitedly.

"Then I'd be happy to have you," Harry said and knelt down before the elf, his hand outstretched for Dobby to shake.

Dobby just stared at the hand with a confused expression. Harry chuckled, gingerly took Dobby's right hand, and then placed it in his own, before he gently shook the hand. Dobby looked about ready to burst into tears.

"Dobby has never been treated like an equal, Harry Potter sir," the little elf said with quivering lips. "Harry Potter sir truly is a great wizard."

"A man should not be judged by how he treats his equals, but by how he treats his inferiors," Harry said wisely. "Whilst in the eyes of society, you certainly are beneath me, what people don't consider is how house–elves like you are instrumental in giving them an easy life. All parts of the whole are important, as even a single broken part will break the whole thing. You and your kin are invaluable, Dobby, and I'm more than happy to know that I have you to help me out when I need it."

Dobby actually did start shedding tears, though just a few.

"Dobby will not fail you, Harry Potter sir!"

"And I won't fail you, Dobby," Harry said and gently patted the elf's head. "Now, meet me just outside the gates to the castle in half an hour. I have some things to discuss with the headmaster."

"Yes, Harry Potter sir!" Dobby exclaimed with a smile and 'popped' out of the room.

"When did you place your sock in the diary?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

"Vampire magic," Harry said. "I was doing it even before I asked you for it. You just didn't see it."

"And you did this to gain a house–elf?"

"No, I did it to piss off Malfoy," Harry admitted. "It wasn't until afterwards I realised that Dobby would need a place to go."

"Oh, well," Dumbledore muttered, before straightening himself. "What can I do for you this evening?"

"Those documents you sent me about the horcruxes are more detailed than I would have thought. Doesn't mean there's a lot," Harry commented. "Something belonging to Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin… obviously, they're Hogwarts artefacts. But what makes you think nothing of Gryffindors was made into one as well?"

"Because I doubt that the Sword of Godric Gryffindor would be able to contain a piece of Voldemort's soul," Dumbledore said. "Goblin steel only takes on what strengthens it, and repels anything else. It needs not sharpening, nor cleaning. And I do believe it is our greatest weapon against the horcruxes."

"Why?"

"Because the night the diary was destroyed, the sword was used to kill the basilisk, stabbing it through it's head."

Harry was silent.

"It went through the serpent's palate, didn't it?"

"Indeed, it did."

"So the blade pierced the venom glands behind its eyes."

"Right."

"The basilisk venom could destroy the horcrux, and since goblin steel takes on qualities that enhances it… It took on the horcrux destroying quality of the venom, didn't it?"

"I very much believe so."

"Which also means that the sword would have been destroyed if it came into contact with the venom if it was a horcrux, but it didn't, therefore it wasn't a horcrux."

"I think I know a few possible locations of these items Tom Riddle covets so dearly. There is a little town called Little Hangleton in Yorkshire. There is a mansion once belonging to the muggle Riddle family, but on the outskirts, there's a small house belonging to the Gaunt family."

"The Gaunts are one of the Sacred Twenty–Eight, right?"

"Yes, and Tom's mother was Merope Gaunt. I think Tom might have hidden a horcrux in the shack there."

"I will go and check it out before I return to London," Harry nodded. "Let me know if you think of anywhere else."

"I will," Dumbledore nodded as well. "I wish you safe travels, Harry."

"I'll let you know if I find anything," Harry said before leaving the office and going to the gate to meet Dobby. "Can you take me to Yorkshire, Dobby?"

"Of course Harry Potter sir!" the elf excitedly said and took Harry's hand, before they disappeared from view.

•••

Dobby was sitting in a tree, watching out for anyone approaching, whilst Harry cautiously entered the designated hut. He was put off, finding a decomposed snake nailed to the door, but he pushed the door open, nonetheless. Harry's eyes glowed yellow, letting him see perfectly in the dark. There was mould and weeds shooting up from the ground, and a thick layer of dust and filth was on every surface. The place smelled horrendous, though Harry had smelt worse. At least there wasn't a decomposing corpse inside the shack. He drew his wand, ready to unleash defensive spells if he had to. He also stretched out his perception of supernatural energies, and found that there was a dark, malignant presence close by. But more than that, he felt something he hadn't felt in years, or rather centuries when one counted the time–dilation of Meerlinda's chantry. An ache in his scar, dull and throbbing, but prominent nonetheless. Harry thought nothing of it, but as he slowly and cautiously stepped across the floor, the ache grew stronger. He stepped on a loose floorboard, and suddenly, his head was assaulted with sharp stabbing sensations. He grunted and stumbled to one knee, focusing on pushing the pain out of his mind. He looked at the floorboard, and noticed a small glimmer of something underneath it. He cautiously pulled it away to reveal a small, golden box, and Harry's more esoteric sight revealed magical energies floating around it, almost protecting it. Harry pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket and placed it on the box before picking up the box. He felt a resonating vibration from within the box, and realised that it must be the horcrux.

It seems they can communicate with one another, since I'm one as well. Better send this to Dumbledore.

Harry stood back up and left the shack, but saw a figure coming out of the Riddle house up on the hill.

I thought the Riddle mansion was abandoned?

"Dobby," Harry called out in a whisper.

"Yes, sir?" the elf appeared next to him.

"Go to Dumbledore's office and ask him to let you bring me the Gryffindor sword."

"At once, sir!" Dobby cried out in a whisper as well, and disappeared, before he returned with the requested item a minute later. "Here, sir!"

Harry took it with a smile.

"Stand back."

The elf walked a few metres away, and Harry raised the sword over the box. The pain in his scar worsened instantly, but he ignored it, and swung down the sword, cleaving the box in two, and as he did, the pain became blinding, he saw white, and he was forced to his knees, grunting at the pain.

"Master!" Dobby cried and ran over to Harry. "Master, are you alright!?"

"I'm fine Dobby, thank you," Harry muttered, and looked at the box. Inside was a ring with a black stone in it, and he had cleft the whole thing in two. But there was something about the stone. Something he couldn't resist, and he slowly picked it up. It was split in two, but he saw a faint symbol in the rock. He put the rock away in his pocket and handed the sword to Dobby, who instantly disappeared and reappeared, the sword returned to Hogwarts.

"Take me to London," Harry muttered, his hand clutching his head. "I'll guide you."

And the elf did as asked.

A Crescendo

Harry stood in an apartment, currently vacant of anything beyond a futon, a fridge, and a hotplate. Of course, if you didn't know what to look for. Harry had quickly found the weapons hidden under floorboards and in the walls, as well as the ceiling. He looked out the window, out into the streets of London. He heard the door behind him open.

"Good evening, Caiaphas," Harry calmly said. "I've been expecting you."

He turned around and looked at the elderly man, Caiaphas Smith, who was a vampire hunter. The man, his greying hair and beard, as well as the few wrinkles dotting his strong, stoic face, spoke to his age, but his body, veiled only marginally his clothes, showed that he was strong, no doubt strong enough to take on a young Brujah. His cold eyes stared at Harry.

"Who are you?"

"Name's James Evans," Harry said calmly, "and I have a vampire problem. I heard you were the man to talk to."

Caiaphas scrutinised him before the man entered with the grocery bag and started packing them into the fridge.

"I've been following a woman, 'Anne Bowesley'. I think she's some kind of kingpin of the London vamps, but she's surrounded with human guards all the time. I need someone to help in killing her."

"You a hunter yourself, kid?" Caiaphas asked with feigned disinterest.

"To an extent."

"Well, you came at a good time, then," Caiaphas said. "I've been tracking her too. Don't worry, she won't be around much longer. What'd you want with her, anyway?"

"She met my older sister in a pub seven years ago," Harry said, and did choke up just a little. "She bled her dry like a pig. I want the same to happen to that dead cunt."

Caiaphas paused. He had heard the stories before, hunters responding to the call to arms because of a loved one's murder at the hand of a blood sucker. It was the oldest and most common reason, but he had always thought it was a better reason than many others.

"Just go home, kid," Caiaphas said. "She won't be up much longer."

"Thank you," Harry muttered and left the apartment, his head held low and his face twisted in very well–feigned grief, though when he was out of sight, it turned into a grin.

That's Plan B. Plan A has already been put into motion with the distribution of the rumours, and will be the nail in the coffin. Plan C is being prepared by Meerlinda right now, and Plan D has been put into motion with the C4. Everything is going according to the plan. In a week, Bowesley will be no more, and Dee will take her place in the chaos. My death will be staged, and I will disappear from London for a few years, until I resurface with a new face.

Harry left the apartment building with a smile.

•••

"Are you certain this will work?" Dee asked, sitting next to Harry on the bench in the park where they met. He was looking over the documents Harry had drafted detailing the plan, it's various parts and contingencies. "I don't doubt your skill, not after this," he gestured to the papers, "but are you certain it will work?"

"Absolutely," Harry nodded. "And if all the contingencies fail, I will move in and do it myself."

"Very well, Harrison. We commence tomorrow at ten."

•••

Harry sat in an empty apartment overlooking Queen Anne's haven. The window was open, and he was holding a Barrett M82A1; semi–automatic anti–material rifle, with an effective range of up to 1800 metres, and a maximum distance of almost 3500 in the hands of an expert sniper. He had it loaded with Raufoss Mk211, a .50 calibre highly–explosive incendiary round. On the top rail was a 3–12x56 mm scope with dimly glowing crosshairs, and at the end was a strong, high–end suppressor. Harry knew that with that beast of a rifle, he could take down practically any Kindred, and he wasn't planning on missing Queen Anne. He glanced at his watch. It was almost eleven. He had seven minutes to get ready. He kept his eyes roaming the street below, making sure not a single detail was unnoticed. He routinely looked down at the range chart he'd drawn up of the street, made sure his scope was adjusted properly, and doublechecked all the parts of his sniper nest. Everything was in order, and he looked at his watch again. Two minutes. He felt his heart beat quicker, and his breathing picking up just a little. Shooting at a distance and fighting up close were very different methods of killing, and he always started getting nerves when he was sniping. It was something only a truly despicable human could completely overcome, and Harry was secretly glad he felt the nerves; it meant he wasn't becoming another Voldemort. In hand–to–hand combat and with knives, he didn't get nerves, because he simply couldn't afford to get nerves. Me might feel them a little later, but his body knew that if it gave him nerves in a close–quarters fight, he might die.

Harry heard the gunfire and the shouting from within the mansion, telling him it had begun. He loaded a 15–round magazine into the rifle and racked the bolt, loading a bullet in the chamber. He flicked the covers to his scope up, flicked the safety off, steadied the bipod on the long table he was using as a shooting platform to lay on, and leant in close so that he could look down the scope. He sat still, his sights sweeping over the mansion, until he saw four bodies come running out; Anne and four bodyguard ghouls. Harry looked at his chart.

Passing that alley, 450 metres.

He took aim on a guard, took a deep breath, and then let it all out air of his lungs. Using the steadiness of having no lung activity, he squeezed the trigger, and the rifle let out a loud 'crack', and the ghoul's torso blasted open, sending blood and gore out over the four remaining persons, who looked at him and stopped. When they looked around, another loud 'crack' resounded, and another ghoul was blasted open. The group tried to run back, but the third ghoul was blown apart as well. Soon, only Queen Anne remained running, and Harry fixated on her.

700 metres and counting.

Harry took aim one last time. He saw the sudden downpour of liquid from the roof to her left, dowsing her in the substance.

Just as planned.

Harry fired on the asphalt right next to her, and the gasoline lit her up like a bonfire. It was bright in Harry's scope, but he zeroed in on her again, and for good measure, he blasted her in the chest, and soon, the fire stopped as it couldn't burn ash. Harry quickly put down the rifle and picked up a torch before he covered it with his hand a few times, signalling the ghoul on the roof, who did the same back. Harry then quickly went about packing his things, looking forward to returning to Hogwarts a few months later. After all, that was where his friends and girlfriend was.

•••

Harry was being roughly forced by his shoulders onto the stage of the small theatre. He was bound and gagged, beaten and bruised. He made sure not to heal his injuries, as they needed to be convincing. He was breathing heavily and sweating profusely. His broken leg was a nice touch. It hurt pretty bad, but was otherwise a convincing detail. He was thrown onto the stage by the ghouls dragging him.

"Kindred of London!" Meerlinda exclaimed, standing next to him. "This is the swine who tried to usurp power over the domain! The pathetic ghoul who tried to become Prince in his arrogance!"

Harry put on a guilty, shamed, and despairing front, but inwards, he smiled. Everything was happening as he had predicted it would. Meerlinda drew out a small flask of a clear liquid and a small sewing needle.

"This is Ricin," she stated out loud. "A single drop will kill a human in twenty–four hours or less, and it is quite painful! Should this traitorous and pompous ghoul be subjected to it!?"

There were several shouts of consent, as well as a lot of consenting muttering from the crowd.

"You, the ghoul scourge of London, are then hereby sentenced to death!" the elder Tremere exclaimed, dipped the needle in the liquid, and pocked it through the skin of Harry's neck, introducing the tap–water into his bloodstream. His bonds were severed, and he was released. "You have twenty–four hours! Say your goodbyes!"

She then kicked him to the side of the stage, and Harry scrambled weakly, groaning in mock–pain and clutching his neck where she had stabbed him. As he made his way from the theatre, none attacked him, but all mocked him. Harry had to kick himself mentally to force himself not to smile or laugh as he left the building.

•••

Sitting in the chantry, Harry read up on his school textbooks, confident he could score highest marks in all his NEWT's three years later. He also spent time going over the new documents Dumbledore had made for him detailing the different suspected horcruxes and their locations. One of them, he suspected, might even be at Hogwarts, but the more immediate concern was one likely stored in the Lestrange vault at Gringotts, seeing as they were staunch supporters of Voldemort since he went to Hogwarts. There was a place that Voldemort's orphanage had taken trips to where he might have hidden one, but Dumbledore would look more into it. Meerlinda had plenty of things to attend to, seeing as she had been made seneschal under Prince Dee. They were working hard to establish a spy network, and it was going slowly, but they were progressing. Harry spent his days and nights scoping out Gringotts, trying to find a way inside. He had come across several security memos on one of his trips inside, and had spent a lot of time studying them as well. All in all, he was caught in a studying frenzy that would make even Hermione proud.

•••

The day finally came in late April. The day he would go into the Lestrange vault and leave with what Dumbledore assumed to be either Salazar Slytherin's locket or Helga Hufflepuff's cup. He was wearing his invisibility cloak, granted to him by Dumbledore on one of his visits to the headmaster's office to hear new information about the horcruxes as he went along. Dumbledore apparently spent quite a bit of time when he could looking into Voldemort's past, and even gaining memories from several people who met him to review and study. Harry walked through the magical quarter, and entered the building, making sure to breathe as quietly as possible. He snuck through the atrium and the large hall where people would meet the goblins. When he reached the caverns beneath the building, he shuddered as he reached inside his pocket and withdrew a small plastic cup containing a rather small spider. He pulled it out and placed it under his mouth before closing his eyes and focusing on his blood and his feet. He then wrapped the cloak tightly around himself and placed his foot on the cave wall. Thankfully, it stuck tightly to the wall, and he then launched himself off with the other. Soon, Harry was walking horizontally across the walls of the cavern, clutching his invisibility cloak tightly. He soon reached the cave he wanted, the one containing the Lestrange vault. He quickly walked over to the door and pulled out a small plastic bag from his pouch under the cloak. He pulled out a severed hand, once belonging to a goblin who had 'called in sick' for the day, and placed it on the door. It melted away like he had read it would, and made his way inside, only to be remade after he was in. Under his cloak, his eyes brightened to glowing yellow. He spent a few minutes looking over the things. He spotted a small golden cup, and focused on it with his eyes. Sure enough, it had the engraving of a badger on it. He then stretched out his hand and tried to summon it with his telekinetic prowess, but it didn't move.

"Shit," he muttered to himself.

He looked around and saw a bookcase. He grabbed it and twisted and turned it before he gave it a strong push. It fell over with a resounding boom, and he knew he had to work fast. He ran up the back of the bookcase to reach the cup, and as he did, he took it with his gloved hand and stashed it in the pouch he carried. He slid back down the bookcase as his sensitive hearing caught exclamations and shouts outside. He used the hand to dematerialise the door, and then threw it down into the large cavern as he walked back across the surface of the cave wall. As he reached the platform, he turned around and spat out the spider after pulled the hood of the cloak away. He then saw goblins looking around wildly down by the Lestrange vault. He smirked, pulled the hood back up, and left the wizarding bank, with none the wiser as to his presence. He had spent decades training for operations like these, and was only aided by his newfound knowledge of the wizarding world. He couldn't be happier that he had decided to attend Hogwarts.

•••

Harry had Dobby bring him to the headmaster's office at Hogwarts in early May. Dumbledore was surprised, but also joyed to see Harry.

"How are you, dear boy?" Albus asked with a smile.

"I'm great," the teenager replied as he pulled the goblet out of his pouch. "The real, genuine cup of Helga Hufflepuff, and it is most certainly a horcrux. I feel it pounding in my head even now."

Dumbledore seemed sad for just a moment, until he stood up and went to retrieve the sword of Gryffindor.

"Would you mind doing it, Headmaster?" Harry said and took some steps away from the cup. "Destroying the ring was bloody painful."

"Of course, Harry," Dumbledore said and placed a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. "In the future, just bring them to me, and I shall do it."

Harry nodded with a small smile, and then crossed almost half the room before he turned to witness the destruction of the cup. The moment the sword struck it, Harry felt the thunderous pain in his head once again, but it was much weaker, and he stayed on both feet, though he did sway with dizziness and ache. Dobby gently took his master by the hand, and Harry couldn't help the smile. The house–elf had been eagerly cooking food for Harry whilst he stayed in the chantry, as well as washed his clothes and cleaned the place up. Meerlinda had quickly approved of Dobby's presence, as the elf had taken the initiative to dust off her massive library and each book individually.

"Thanks, Dobby," Harry said and gently patted the elf's head.

"Always, Harry Potter sir!" Dobby excitedly said in a low voice, aware of Harry's new headache.

Harry conjured up a silver goblet, not unlike the one that had just been destroyed, and then extended his fangs and bit into his wrist. He then bled into the cup for a while. He handed the cup to the elf.

"Drink it," he said with a smile. "You've earned it."

Dobby seemed a little taken aback, but quickly drank it nonetheless.

"Dobby, as you know by now, I'm close to being a vampire," Harry started an explanation as he crouched down to be on eye–level with the elf. "I can ghoul any creature smaller than a human. It means that as long as you drink my blood at least monthly, you won't age a day. Usually, drinking a vampire's blood also entails having one's emotions bound to them, but this cup," he gestured at it, and pointed out the runic script engraved around the edge, "has been enchanted to remove that bond. I would never enslave you, Dobby, and I would like to have you around for a long time."

Dobby nodded eagerly and handed back the cup, which Harry wordlessly sent back to the London chantry.

"We're going," Harry said and took Dobby's hand once more, before he turned to Dumbledore. "I'll be back in time for the third task."

With that, he disappeared.

•••

Harry was sitting at the far end of the long table in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place 12 as old members of the Order of the Phoenix were being called in to the first meeting in over a decade. He merely watched as everyone greeted each other, made small–talk, and found a seat around the other end of the table, where Dumbledore was seated. The Weasley parents, along with Bill and Charlie, were especially shocked at seeing Harry, but as per Arthur's wishes, Harry didn't acknowledge them. Soon, almost a dozen people were gathered and seated at the table.

"Albus, why is Harry Potter sitting at the other end?" Harry heard a woman lean in and mumble to Dumbledore. "He's underage, not to mention that he should be at Hogwarts."

"That will all be explained, Emmeline," Dumbledore assured the lady before he stood up and addressed the table. "I have had you all summoned here tonight to inform you that Voldemort is returning."

There were gasps and mutters from the Order members.

"Both Harry and myself are certain of it," Dumbledore gestured to the boy at the end of the table. "Now, I am certain that many of you are wondering why Mr Potter is here tonight. That is a simple question to answer; whilst I will stay at Hogwarts and attend to the security of the students, Harry will stay out of Hogwarts to continue the battle on the outside as a commander–in–chief."

Everyone went deadly silent.

"Harry, as most of you know well, wasn't found in the Potter cottage in Godric's Hollow fourteen years ago. He was taken in by a woman who happened to come by and see Voldemort commit his heinous act. This woman, Linda Watson, is a vampire, and she has been training Harry to fight and kill since he could walk."

"Merlin's beard," someone muttered, aghast. There were murmurs, but they were quickly silenced as Dumbledore spoke again.

"Incidentally, she has been teaching Harry the same tactics of warfare that Voldemort and the Death Eaters employed during the first war, in preparation for the second. Out of everyone here, Harry Potter is, without a shred of doubt in my mind, the most formidable foe Voldemort could have. Harry knows Voldemort's tactics, he knows how to defend against them, as well as how to turn them against him. Harry is also, sadly, a seasoned killer, as well as a dark creature. As much was revealed in the Daily Prophet this past August."

Harry sat and watched the reactions around the table. All eyes were on him, with varying degrees of horror and sadness. His own, however, displayed nothing as his face was as cold and hard as stone.

"The recent attacks against Death Eaters and known Voldemort supporters and affiliates have been committed by Harry, as a preemptive strike. He has spent the past few months thinning out Voldemort's ranks before they can be organised, to make it so that they would have to spend precious time training new recruits. Harry has been highly efficient in this endeavour, and has to date taken at least twenty Death Eater lives. Whilst I do not wish for anyone to use such tactics, it is the reality of war that people will do anything to win. I will not condemn Harry for doing what he has spent his entire life training to do, and I would ask the rest of you that you wouldn't, either."

"I will start off," Harry said as he stood up from his chair, and Albus respectfully sat down, "by saying that I want neither your sympathy, nor your comments on how I should change my tactics. I won't ask any of you to do as I do, and I hope you would extend the same courtesy to me. As to how I can fight this way, call it indoctrination, or call it desensitisation. I don't really care either way. I will not hide my past from you, nor will I hide my nature from you. There might come a time when I drag a Death Eater back here for interrogation. If you want to learn, I will teach you, but otherwise, stay away if you don't like it. There will be privacy charms put up in one of the rooms in the basement, so you won't hear the screams."

Several seemed to pale considerable, some swallowed, and a few actually began sweating. Most notably to Harry, the Weasleys looked more sad than anything else.

"As for what I am," Harry continued just as calmly and coolly, "I have subjected myself to magic which infused me with the traits of both werewolves and vampires. I possess the powers of both, and some of their weaknesses. I would ask you all that, if you wear silver rings, to take them off before touching me in any way, as well as not coming too close to me whilst wearing silver or having just eaten garlic. I would also ask that you refrain from too loud noises or creating strong scents. They irritate my ears and nose, and I'm prone to headaches from sensory overload."

There were just a few nods, but they were otherwise still.

"I would also like to say that I am available for guidance and counselling, should anyone ever need it. I am no psychologist, and I don't intend to become anyone's 'friend' with this, but I have studied the field, and if anyone should feel issues during the coming war, I might be found here, should anyone wish to talk. Mental health is imperative in war, and I take it very seriously. If any of you have issues or trouble with me, come and tell me directly to my face. I won't take it personally if you shout it in my face, either. Lastly, any reports of Death Eater activity comes straight to me, either face–to–face, or in written form. It is important that I am aware of the other side's movements if I am to lead this effort in Dumbledore's absence. I also have associates of my own. You will meet two of them sometime, but for now, suffice it to say that one is my guardian, a vampire, and the other is a powerful muggle–born wizard. That is all I have for now."

With that, Harry sat back down and folded his hands in front of him on the table. Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"Harry, did you consult the stars as you said you would?"

"I did," Harry nodded. "They reveal a great darkness engulfing Britain, and it's going to happen soon. This means that no matter what is done, Voldemort will rise within the next year's time. And I don't know about anyone here, but I intend to welcome him back with a warm, fiery, explosive surprise. Or I might opt for a cold, uncaring, toxic one. Guess we'll see."

No one dared move a muscle when he slightly smirked. Suddenly a 'crack' came from behind Harry, indicating apparition, and Harry smiled. Everyone else at the table fumbled just a little and got to their feet, drawing their wands.

"Had I been a Death Eater, I could have taken six of you before you could do anything about it," Harry heard the very English accent from behind him. "You need to shave off the rust."

People all stared at him with confusion and shock, but Dumbledore instantly dropped his wand, it clanging on the table and making everyone look at him.

"James…" he muttered, his eyes wide. "How?"

"I told you I was older than I looked, Albus," the somewhat darker–than–fair skinned man with bright blue eyes and black hair sat down next to Harry with a smile, placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at the boy. "Sorry I wasn't here. I had business at the office, took a while longer than expected."

"It's fine," Harry smiled back. He then looked at Dumbledore. "Headmaster, I presume you know him."

Dumbledore picked his wand back up and stuffed it back in his sleeve.

"It's good to see you again, James," Dumbledore nodded at the man. "Everyone; this is James Evans. He is an extremely talented muggle–born wizard, and a highly competent auror for the MACUSA."

Muttering broke out again as people stared at James who just sat and smiled.

"I'll be lending my assistance to the Order when I can. I've just been transferred to the British Ministry for the next few years. I'll be keeping an eye out for Voldemort's influence in there, but I have to focus on work if I want to stay in Britain for any substantial amount of time. I'll be kept on a thin leash for being an outsider."

"Well, you sound pretty English to me," one of the Order members, a certain Elphias Doge, said.

"I was born and raised around Galilee," James snorted lightly. "Like a certain someone people like to mention when they're angry or startled."

"Who?" someone asked.

Before anyone could do anything, even Harry, James slammed his palm into the back of the boy's head, his smile never faltering.

"JESUS CHRIST!" Harry exclaimed as he rubbed the back of his head, which was a little dull.

"Exactly."

Dumbledore chuckled, catching the congregating Order members off–guard once more.

"Thank you all for joining us this evening. As of tonight, the Order is reformed. Harry will be here a lot, so if anything happens, go to him. That is all for now. Good evening."

It took a while for everyone to leave, but he noticed that the Weasleys lingered behind, as did Remus. Remus, however, looked far better than Harry had ever seen him. Rather than looking skinny and sickly, he looked perfectly fit and healthy. He had filled out his clothes, and he had even bought some new ones. His new suit was in the same style as his old one, but it was blatantly apparent that it was new and strong. He also smiled brightly as he came over to Harry.

"I must thank you, Harry," he said. "I can't remember ever having felt so… energised. Healthy. My lycanthropy always made me weak and sick, but now… I can feel it constantly keeping me strong. I can never thank you enough."

Harry stood up and slowly moved towards Remus, before braking out a smile and opening his arms. The man embraced the boy warmly, and it was returned just as warmly. They did soon let go of each other, however.

"The least I can do for a best friend of my father's," Harry smiled. "Now, make sure to enjoy your good health to it's fullest, you hear me? I don't want to find out you've wasted such a gift."

"I will," Remus chuckled, and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "You've become such a great wizard in such a short time, Harry. Your parents would be so proud of you, in spite of… current circumstances."

Harry smiled, but had to look down anyway. His parents were his soft–spot. Remus turned around and headed over to catch up with Sirius, as Arthur closed in to replace the werewolf.

"Harry…" Arthur began, but he seemed to not know what to say. Harry didn't hurry him. He just waited until Arthur had found the right words. "I've been thinking a lot about the World Cup, believe me. I can't recall a single day where I haven't thought about what I learned, what I witnessed. But because of what you looked like you were doing, I didn't realise what you were actually doing; you didn't just wantonly kill five or six men. You ran head on into a conflict zone, with no regard for your own safety, to make sure civilians would escape safely. It took me the past few months to figure that out. You knew what was going on before any of us, and you took the initiative to help before thinking of yourself. That is what I should have thought of you. So, if you will accept my apology, I would be more than happy to have you over at the Burrow again the coming summer."

Harry looked into Arthur's eyes, and found only guilt and shame, no hint of deceit or dishonesty. Harry stuck out his hand without a word. Arthur hesitantly took it and shook it. Harry then smiled a little.

"I'd love to."

Arthur smiled as well.

"We'll be expecting you, then."

Molly, relieved the tension had eased, waddled around her husband and pulled Harry into a tight hug, which Harry tightly reciprocated.

"I'll be looking forward to seeing you again, dear," she muttered and patted his cheeks as she released him.

"I'll be looking forward to your cooking," Harry said. "Ron spoke wonders of it."

"Just you wait, I'll fill that belly up better than anything you've ever had!" she gleefully responded.

The two oldest Weasleys behind their parents nodded at Harry with smiles, and he returned the gestures.

•••

It would soon be time for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament, so Harry decided to spend the rest of the period at Hogwarts. None of the Order members had really begun the initiative, as they needed to slowly rework calendars and schedules to allow for Order business without anyone noticing anything odd. Harry spent a great deal of time with Fleur, Hermione and the Weasleys, but Ginny would usually avoid him like the plague. He wouldn't apologise for what he had done. She would realise this over the summer.

However, today Harry decided that he would try and connect with Cedric. He'd been friendly with the guy before, and hoped for his support in the final task, as he would offer his own. He also hoped to make a friend out of Cedric, perhaps one he could confide his deepest feelings to. Really any Hufflepuff would offer a good base, but Harry felt like he needed Cedric in particular. The man just seemed so archetypical Hufflepuff, it almost hurt. But he'd also grown to like the guy. He found Cedric in the Great Hall, surrounded by other Hufflepuffs who seemed to scowl when Harry came close. Cedric turned when he saw it and smiled.

"Hey, Harry," he called. "I was thinking of talking to you, actually."

"Alright," Harry smiled back. "Come outside, then?"

Cedric said his goodbyes to his housemates as he followed Harry outside.

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"I was wondering if you have any clue what the third task is," he said. "You always seemed to be prepared for the others."

"Yeah, it's a maze," Harry said. "It's being grown on the Quidditch pitch as we speak."

Cedric's jaw almost dropped.

"Don't worry, it'll be cut down when the task is over," Harry said with a small smile. "Anyway, the Triwizard cup will be placed in the centre of the maze, and it'll be turned into a portkey. Whoever touches it first gets transported to entrance of the maze, and wins the tournament."

"How do you know so many details?"

"I have my ways," Harry shrugged.

The boys took a walk around the lake, chatting along the way.

"… so I'd like to join the Ministry after school, like my dad," Cedric finished.

"Sounds great."

"What about you?"

Harry sighed and looked out over the Black Lake.

"I'm not sure. Did you read the Daily Prophet a few days after the World Cup? And did anyone tell you what happened during my first task?"

Cedric seemed to grow a little sullen at that.

"Yeah. Is it true?"

"It is," Harry nodded. "I have connections to a few criminal syndicates composed of other creatures like me. In the unlikely event you should find yourself on the run in London, ask around for James Evans. I'll find you."

"I appreciate the offer," Cedric nodded. "I honestly don't think you're that bad. I think the others are overreacting."

"How?" Harry looked at Cedric with a raised brow.

"Well, people are complaining to the teachers about you being here at Hogwarts," Cedric started slowly, unsure of how Harry would take it. "They say they're scared when you're around. Parents have written to professor Dumbledore as well, tried to get you expelled for being a werewolf."

"It never ceases to amaze me how ignorant humans become when they're scared," Harry snorted lightly. "Fleur's part Veela, so she's just as little human as I am. How do they look at her?"

"Well, yeah," Cedric seemed a little taken aback and flustered. "But then again, Veelas are inhumanly beautiful, and really calm."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," Harry chuckled. "They aren't inhumanly beautiful. They just give off a magic that twists the feelings and perceptions of those around them who are attracted to women. They mostly just look a little different. The magic is what makes them seem inhumanly beautiful, though I won't deny that a lot of them are, indeed, beautiful in the conventional way."

"You talking about Fleur?" Cedric asked with a smile.

"Well, she's only a quarter Veela," Harry explained. "Her allure isn't as strong as that of a full Veela, but I'll admit, she's the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

They were quiet for a little as they made their round of the lake.

"Listen, Cedric. I know it might sound strange, but a storm's brewing."

"What'd you mean?"

"Voldemort will return soon enough," Harry said, his face now set in a somewhat troubled expression. "If you want the best chance of survival, I'd suggest you go have a talk with professor Dumbledore. Tell him you'd like to join the Order."

"Order?"

"He'll explain it," Harry stopped and looked out over the mountains surrounding Hogwarts. "A war's coming. And all of Britain will be swept up in it. "I can't guarantee you'll survive it, especially not with you being the son of Amos Diggory. You'll be a prime target to get to Amos, and the Death Eaters would like to get to Amos, considering his position in the Ministry."

Cedric seemed to be about to start arguing, but Harry held up his hand to stop him.

"You might be a pretty good student, and even a duellist here at Hogwarts. But when you face a seasoned Death Eater, I have no doubt you'll die. I'd like to offer you the best chance to live. If you join the Order, you'll be under my protection, and I can teach you how to survive Death Eater battles."

"Something tells me you aren't exactly normal, apart from being a werewolf," Cedric said with a worried face.

"That something is right. Ask Dumbledore, he'll probably tell you I'm the most dangerous person here at Hogwarts. And honestly, he wouldn't be wrong." Harry clapped Cedric on the arm. "Think about it."

With that, he walked off towards the castle, leaving Cedric looking after him as he retreated.

The End

Night had already fallen. The whole population of Hogwarts was gathered on the Quidditch pitch, now host to a five-metre-tall hedge maze. Harry and Cedric were wearing black running pants and matching shirts with the Hogwarts crest, except Cedric's was black and yellow, whereas Harry's was black and red. Fleur was wearing a light blue tracksuit with the Beauxbatons crest on her chest, and Krum was wearing dark brown pants with a light brown long–sleeve with the Durmstrang crest on it. They were all ready for the task, and Harry was ready for what lay beyond even that. He had to reach the cup first. Harry was mentally preparing himself as Dumbledore gave a small speech, and people cheered, and soon, he and Cedric were led to their entrance. His focus snapped back to the present, waiting for the cannon to fire. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of glowing red eyes somewhere in the highest stands, and while the person they belonged to was hidden well in the shadows, Harry knew exactly who it was, and smiled.

"Good luck," he muttered to Cedric.

"You too," Cedric muttered back.

The cannon roared, and the two boys took off sprinting into the maze. They split at the first opportunity, and Harry kept running. Soon, he heard the cannon, meaning Krum was released into the maze. And soon after that, it was Fleur's turn. But Harry kept running. He soon saw a Blast–Ended Skrewt, and as he came up to it and it was about to blast him with fire, he jumped over it and kept running. He then came across a patch where the maze tried crushing him, but he kept pushing through as his shirt was torn a little. Nothing would stop him from reaching the cup first, but to him, it wasn't about winning; it was about making sure none of the others ended up in a place they shouldn't be in. He was beginning to get into a fast–paced rhythm, until he came across a sphinx. Harry didn't have time to solve its riddle, however, and with a fast running start, he jumped and shot straight past the beast, though unfortunately one of its snake tails managed to catch Harry in the leg, and tore two long, shallow cuts in his right leg. He landed, hands first, and rolled over his shoulders, onto his feet, and kept running as the lion–woman–snake tribrid came running after him. He soon caught sight of the cup, and was elated, but he also saw Cedric come running from the other side. Icy water was pumped through his veins as he sped up to catch it before Cedric. Harry jumped towards it, but so did Cedric, and to Harry's dread, they touched the cup at the exact same time.

•••

Harry and Cedric landed heavily on the ground, sending both of them rolling across the grass. Harry sat up and pulled out the venomous fangs from his leg. He examined the wounds a little. The venom wouldn't do much to him, and his blood would produce more blood than would leave the wound, but the venom would keep it open for the meantime.

"I thought you said we'd be brought to the entrance," Cedric said as he looked around.

"That was the Ministry's plan," Harry said and looked around. "This was Voldemort's."

"What'd you mean!?" Cedric asked, but someone came close, out of a small structure.

Harry stood up on his best leg and moved towards Cedric. The cup had been thrown a little distance away.

"Kill the spare," Harry heard the small voice, and Pettigrew, who held the bundle of what Harry realised was Voldemort, raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry though quick and whipped out his own wand.

"Serpensortia!"

A black snake was shot out of Harry's wand, and exploded as it was struck by the Killing Curse.

"Cedric, get the cup!" Harry yelled.

"I'm not leaving y–"

"GET IT! I'LL BE FINE!" Harry shouted louder, and looked at Cedric with glowing, yellow eyes.

Cedric didn't seem to understand, but he ran over towards the cup nonetheless.

"Avada Kedavra!" Pettigrew shouted towards Cedric again, but this time, Harry was ready.

"Engorgio!" he shouted as he pointed at a rock between Pettigrew and Cedric, making it expand in size and catch the Killing Curse, blasting a piece of it off.

Cedric reached the cup, looked back at Harry with a measure of confusion and fear, but then touched the cup. Harry turned back to Pettigrew, only to see a light close in on him. As it struck, he realised what it was. His left arm fell off, severed at the middle of his bicep. Harry roared in pain, and sent a Blasting charm off, but it didn't strike anywhere as he lost focus and aim. He then felt magical ropes wrap around him, making him fall to the ground and drop his wand. Harry felt the stinging and burning in his severed arm, and saw it lying still on the ground a little away from him. Then he saw the ground leaving him, and he was levitated so that the stone statue of an angel of death was gripping him tight with its scythe. He couldn't focus as the pain where his arm had been severed was extreme, and spread towards his shoulder and neck.

Dark magic! Fuck, it hurts!

Harry roared in anguish again, and felt that he couldn't heal his arm.

The dark magic must be negating my healing ability! Damn it!

Harry didn't hear Pettigrew as he walked around the large cauldron, performing some kind of ritual. Harry did notice that Pettigrew picked up Harry's arm and threw it in the cauldron.

The hell… is he… doing?

Harry felt himself slip a little due to the now excessive blood loss. Soon, Pettigrew threw the wrapped bundle into the cauldron as well.

Please drown, please fucking drown! PLEASE DROWN!

But his scar in his forehead started hurting like a blade dipped in liquid nitrogen was stabbing it repeatedly, making Harry scream even more. His scar had never hurt so badly. He hadn't even felt it since he was four or five. Harry cried out as a figure rose from the disintegrating cauldron, a large form of what could only be described as a super–sized foetus, but Harry blacked out just momentarily. When he regained consciousness, he saw a bunch of Death Eaters gathered around a bald man with reptilian facial features, wearing long, flowing black robes of some light material.

"Harry Potter," the newly resurrected man Harry knew as Voldemort muttered with a dark glee. "You have completed me."

"You're fucking welcome," Harry muttered, light–headed and feeling a dull ache in his scar, leg and phantom arm. "I'll expect a proper bloody 'thank you' box of the best chocolates in Britain."

"Even when faced with death, you remain as sarcastic as Bartemius Junior said you were. Do you not fear death, Harry?"

"Nah," Harry muttered, his head clearing a little as he felt his leg start healing. "I made my peace a long time ago. You're the one who's desperate to cling to life. This world isn't the end. You know that, right, Tom?"

Voldemort seemed to scowl just a little as he moved closer.

"I am Lord Voldemort, whelp," he muttered dangerously.

"You seem to think I care," Harry started chuckling.

Abruptly, however, Harry was released by the statue, and fell face first onto the ground.

"Pick up your wand!" Voldemort exclaimed. "I presume you know of wizard duelling, Harry!"

Harry didn't hesitate in picking up his wand once the magical ropes binding him disappeared. He quickly got up and held it at the ready. Voldemort smiled gleefully, though it fell when Harry launched a surprise attack.

"Confringo!"

Voldemort merely swiped the Blasting Curse away.

Harry sent a few more curses Voldemort's way, each deflected or blocked. Voldemort, however, sent a string of curses Harry's way in turn, and Harry dodged, sidestepped, blocked and deflected them as well. Harry couldn't figure out what to do, he'd never been in a wizard duel before. He then took a few cautious steps backwards, his wand constantly ready. That was not to be, however, as one of the Death Eaters Voldemort had ordered to leave Harry to him, sent a curse at Harry, which struck him right in the shoulder. The man had conjures an arrow made of silver, which was now sticking out of Harry's shoulder, making the lycanthropic boy stumble to his knees, roaring in anguish.

"Dolohov, I told he was mine!" Voldemort called out, and soon, Dolohov's screams could be heard throughout the graveyard. "I'm so sorry, Harry. They have no manners. Please forgive the interruption."

Voldemort then sent another few curses, one of which struck Harry's right leg, and severed it at the knee. Harry fell and roared in pain and agony once more, but he fought through the pain and got up by leaning against the statue wielding a scythe. Voldemort seemed to have had enough fun, as his eyes narrowed as Harry kept up a strong façade, even as he kept groaning. He would not let the weakness show on his face. Harry did notice the small 'pop,' and looked to the right. The Triwizard cup was there, as was Dobby.

"Dobby, get back to Hogwarts!" Harry roared, and Dobby reluctantly disappeared again.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Voldemort roared at Harry, and Harry instinctively, not knowing what to do, raised his wand as well. "EXPELLIARMUS!"

Green and red bolts of light struck each other, and seemed to melt together. Harry felt his wand start vibrating as golden balls of light appeared along the green and red stream which threw off sloughs of what looked like molten gold to Harry. He felt the vibration grow stronger, but he used his strength to suppress it, and as he did, he noticed the golden ball crawl towards Voldemort's wand. He kept pushing, grunting in pain and effort as the golden ball reached Voldemort's wand, and a blue, ghostly figure almost seemed to fall out of it. It then floated around, and took the appearance of an old man who looked at Voldemort.

"He killed me," the man uttered in astonishment, and then saw Harry. "Fight him, boy! Fight with all you got!"

Harry couldn't believe what he was seeing. A ghost of one Voldemort had killed? Then, what happened if... Harry pushed back even more, until another such figure dropped out. This one took the form of a man, one Harry recognized. Tears started rolling down Harry's cheeks, his arms still vibrating powerfully.

"Dad..."

The ghost of James Potter smiled at Harry.

"You mother will be here soon."

And as Harry pushed back, using every ounce of his willpower, another ghost dropped out of Voldemort's wand and floated over to James, who was headed towards Harry. Harry would have recognized her anytime.

"Mum..." tears were flowing heavily as he groaned under the strain of the spells.

Voldemort seemed astonished at what happened, as well.

"We're here, sweetheart," Lily said in her ethereal voice as the Potters floated towards their son. "We've always been here."

"I miss you!" Harry called out and closed his eyes tightly together.

"We know, son," James spoke, "but now isn't the time! When you break the connection, we can linger for a moment to give you some time to reach the cup, but only a moment! Do you understand!?"

Harry nodded quickly, his shoulders shaking both from the vibrating wand in his hands and from his suppressed sobs.

"Harry, we're so proud of you, sweetheart!" Lily called out. "But you have to go! You're ready!"

"I don't–" Harry was about to say he wasn't ready, that he didn't want to leave them.

"We'll see you again when it's your time, son!" James shouted over the blasting, grounding noise of the colliding spells. "But until then, live life as best you can! We will never judge you for what you've become! NOW GO!"

Harry shook, tears welling out as he pulled his wand away from the connection. As soon as he did, the ghosts all soared towards Voldemort, creating a ghostly blue cloud obscuring Harry from his sight. Harry jumped on one leg towards the cup and screamed, both because of the pain, but also for the parents he had lost. He jumped forwards, about to grasp the cup with his right hand still gripping his wand, until he felt something go through his chest, and he was spun around, landing with his back towards the ground and his hand around a handle of the cup, sending him back to Hogwarts.

•••

People looked down towards the entrance to the maze. Cedric had returned with the cup, but he had seemed panicked for Harry's safety. Something with a graveyard and a guy who wanted to kill Cedric. When Dumbledore went to take the cup to go to the place, however, they all noticed a house–elf taking it and disappearing. Now, it was a waiting game to see what happened. When something finally did, people everywhere screamed, threw up, and fainted. Fleur dropped to her knees, her eyes wide and face pale and clammy, her breathing going into hyperventilation. Dumbledore and the other members of staff slowly gathered around the cup and the thing holding it. It was a thing, because it was no longer alive, as far as anyone could tell.

A large silver spear was sticking in the ground, and on it, hand dropping wand, missing left arm and the right leg, as well as having a silver arrow through the shoulder and cuts and bruises, skin cooling and paling rapidly... was Harry Potter, his eyes open and blank, tears and blood marring his face, his jaw hanging slack. Dumbledore slowly and carefully moved his ear close to the boy's mouth. No breathing. He then carefully checked for a pulse. No heartbeat. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived... had finally died.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and rubbed them with a shaking hand, a few silent tears rolling down his old, weathered face. Several members of the staff looked horrified, and even Snape seemed too shocked to do anything but stare at the mutilated corpse of Lily's son. Hearing a struggling cry behind him, Dumbledore turned, and saw with shocked eyes Fleur Delacour slowly crawling towards the corpse, her eyes swollen and overflowing with tears, face twisted in horror, her legs seeming unable to carry her as she dragged herself forward on weak arms and let out strangled sobs. She came up to Harry and started caressing his face and hair, her anguished wails gaining in power as her entire body shook. Dumbledore, without thinking, gently started caressing her hair, seemingly trying to comfort, her, but in reality, he was comforting himself. Fleur's parents came forward and tried prying her off the body, but she wouldn't let them.

"Mon amour," she rasped out in a hoarse and pained voice as she gently stroked Harry's face and hair. She reached down and took his lifeless right hand in hers and held it close to her heart, and her crying intensified.

Cedric was sitting nearby, shaking from head to toe as his eyes stared blankly at the corpse. Not even Cho, who was trying to talk to him, could get through to him. Until he looked at Dumbledore.

"He's back," the seventeen–year–old croaked out. "You–Kn... Voldemort... is back."

Dumbledore turned his attention to Cedric, whose eyes began watering, and he began shaking lightly.

"Harry tol– he told me to leave. He protected me... from... two Killing Curses. He told me he'd... be fine."

With that, Cedric broke down and couldn't talk anymore. Dumbledore got up and slowly walked over to the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Had you not done as he had told you... you would only have been another casualty," Dumbledore spoke calmly, though his stomach was churning. "He knew that... and he decided you, at least, should get to escape."

"If I'd stayed, I could've–" but Cedric couldn't contain the gasps and moans of grief.

"Don't blame yourself, Cedric. Harry always knew the risks, and he wasn't willing to gamble your life on that."

"Get the students back to the castle," Fudge murmured to the Ministry officials that were with him. "Get them to their common rooms."

The respective heads of the houses all began guiding their students back towards the castles. Hermione and the Weasleys were particularly difficult to get, and Fleur was clawing at her parents and fellow Beauxbatons student dragging her away from the body. Once everyone was cleared, only Dumbledore, Moody, Fudge, and a handful of aurors remained, until a stranger joined them. It was a beautiful woman who Dumbledore recognised. Fudge and Moody were about to draw their wands, but Dumbledore held his hand out to stop them.

"I entrusted you with his safety, Dumbledore," Meerlinda quietly said, her brown eyes fixed on her charge's corpse. "I let him go to school… and this is what happens?"

She didn't shake, she didn't cry. She was merely as cold as ice, emotionless to even the most experienced observer.

"I didn't know this would happen, Ms Watson," Dumbledore said with a weary voice.

"Harry did," she stated and pulled a piece of parchment out of her pocket, which she handed to Dumbledore.

Alastor Moody is Bartemius Crouch Junior. He's using Polyjuice Potion.

HP

Dumbledore, so quick no one caught it, drew his wand and stunned Moody instantly. He then held the parchment out to Fudge.

"Aurors, take 'Moody' into custody and inform Barty Crouch that we found his son," Fudge spoke with a shaking voice. "We'll deal with him later."

Fudge left with the aurors and left Dumbledore and Meerlinda alone to talk it out. Her charge had just been killed during a school event, after all. Meerlinda walked over to the corpse and crouched down next to it. She gently rubbed the boy's stomach, like she had when he was just a toddler.

"It's alright, sweetheart," she whispered. "I'm here for you."

She then noticed something through the torn sleeve of his mostly–intact right arm. She pulled the sleeve up to the elbow, and her eyes widened, before a small smile made its way to her face.

James, you clever, dirty bastard.

She pulled the sleeve back down and let the smile fall. She stood back up and faced Dumbledore.

"I'm taking his body with me," she said coldly. "The funeral will be held at midnight between June 30th and 31st, in Godric's Hollow. I trust you know where the grave will be. Tell the students that any attendee is welcome."

Dumbledore was still and silent for a little while. Then he nodded. Meerlinda gently pushed the boy's body further down the spear until he was lying flat against the ground. She then pulled it out and threw it away, where it dematerialised. She pulled out the arrow as well. She then gingerly picked up the boy, her strength making it an easy task.

"I'm walking to the gate. Will you take us home?"

"I will," Dumbledore said quietly.

The walk to the gates was long, and as they came closer, they saw that the staff had quickly organised a vigil, with students and staff forming a long, narrow path towards the gate to the grounds. It was noticeable that there was only a few Slytherins, but every other student was gathered, everyone with a wand in hand. As Meerlinda, carrying her surrogate son in her arms like a sleeping baby, entered the path, everyone lifted their wand and lit it up with a brilliant, white light. Every student seemed sad and downtrodden, and just a few, noticeably Hermione, Ron, Fleur, Gabrielle and Cedric, were actively crying, but kept their wands up nonetheless. Meerlinda kept walking, her face stoic, until a single tear of blood rolled down her porcelain cheek. She and Dumbledore left through the gate and instantly disappeared, but Dumbledore returned a few seconds later.

"There will be a memorial service June 1st at the End–of–Term Feast. You have a week until then. Spend time with your friends. Cherish them. Tell them how much they mean to you. Now, off to bed."

•••

Meerlinda walked through the subterranean chantry in London, eventually making her way to Harry's room. She laid him down on the bed and gingerly tucked him under the duvet, like she had when he was a child. She looked at the photograph in a frame next to his bed, which was of Meerlinda and Harry sitting in a park feeding ducks when he was three years old. She smiled sombrely. She had done her best to try and give him a normal childhood before he would begin wanting revenge against Voldemort. She had done her best, and she felt that she had failed, but Harry's declarations of loving her always made her feel good about herself. She gently stroked his cold, pale cheek with the back of her fingers.

"Here's looking at you, kid," she quoted one of Harry's favourite films growing up.

•••

The Great Hall was full, and had been outfitted with hundreds of chairs instead of the long tables with benches for the occasion. The usually colourful banners were completely black. Dumbledore sat by himself in the headmaster's chair in front of the students and staff. He felt more tired than he ever had before. All was quiet, and none dared make a sound as the headmaster was about to talk. He sat and looked out over the school's population.

"We are here today… to acknowledge a terrible tragedy," Dumbledore began and slowly stood from his chair, speaking out over the Great Hall at the students from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang alike. "Harry Potter was, as most of you undoubtedly realised during his performance of the first task, not entirely human. But I don't think that matters. When he first came here, Harry was cold, removed, didn't have any friends, and didn't seem like he had any intentions of making any. I honestly don't believe he would have cared if half the school's students were murdered. I believe he could have watched it all happen right in front of him, and not bat an eye."

Some of the students looked at one another with horrified faces.

"But I observed as Harry changed!" Dumbledore exclaimed loudly. "He grew to care for others, he made friends, and his threats of violence lessened. He even fell in love!"

Fleur's somewhat quiet sobbing could be heard throughout the hall.

"Harry changed, when he saw what Hogwarts had. Something of which he had been bereft as a child; a family. Seeing his parents, hearing them talk to him. Those were the greatest desires locked away deep in his hardened heart. The thing he wanted most was family, and he realised he could have made one of Hogwarts. Harry grew up without the love of a father and mother. His guardian heeded his wish for revenge against Lord Voldemort, and so, from the time he could walk and talk, Harry trained to kill."

Students started buzzing with whispers until Dumbledore talked again.

"Harry learned at a young age that some things cannot be overcome so easily. He was taught how to fight, how to make poison, how to get close to his target. And every time he took a life in his pursuit of becoming strong enough to destroy Voldemort, his heart broke just a little further. Make no mistake; Harry… was a good boy. He was kind to those who were kind to him. He was respectful, courteous, and polite, and he was a loyal friend to those who had the fortune of befriending him. And despite what he has claimed, he didn't just want revenge on Voldemort for murdering his parents. He wanted to kill Voldemort, so that no other child would have to be orphaned because of the Death Eaters and their master. So that no mother or father would lose their child, so that siblings would not the torn apart by a fateful curse. Despite what he made others believe, and what he desperately tried to convince himself of, Harry trained so that he could protect people he had never met, and would likely never meet.

Harry realised that he would need as many advantages over Voldemort as he could get. To that end, he subjected himself to horrendous, tortuous, agonising magical rituals which transformed his body into that of a werewolf, and partially a vampire, as well. He needed as much power to oppose Voldemort as possible. And so, he decided to become a monster. Harry sacrificed his compassion. His guilt. His shame. He sacrificed his happiness and his joy, his very humanity by turning himself into a monster… and eventually, sacrificed even his life, for all of you, and your families.

The only thing which could be heard was the quiet grief of Fleur.

"His guardian has informed me that at midnight between July 30th and July 31st, there will be a funeral service for Harry. She has said that anyone who wishes to pay their respects is welcome in the cemetery in Godric's Hollow in the West Country of England to do so."

With that, Dumbledore sat back down in his chair, looking and feeling more tired than he had in decades.

•••

Meerlinda stood in front of the newly minted headstone.

Harry James Potter

31.07.1980 24.06.1995

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me."

Psalm 23:4

She was standing in an outfit similar to the one Harry liked to wear the most. She smiled a little, until she heard a lot of footsteps behind her and turned around. The blond girl Harry had fancied was slowly walking towards her, her parent and little sister a few paces behind her. She looked absolutely devastated, with dark bags under her red, swollen eyes, pale skin and dulled, greyish eyes. Meerlinda had seen her so vibrant, but it was like the fire of life had been doused in her. At least it looked like she had showered, but she hadn't put on any make up or any fancy clothes. Meerlinda was actually shocked to see that she was wearing clothes quite similar to her own, in fact. This visit had nothing to do with appearances; she was there for Harry and for herself. The girl was carrying a somewhat small bouquet, but Meerlinda also noticed why it was small; it was a bouquet comprised solely of lilies, like Harry's mother's name.

Fleur looked at Meerlinda with sad and pained eyes, and Meerlinda slowly walked over to the girl who stiffened up. Until Meerlinda wrapped her arms around the girl comfortingly.

"He always thought about you when he was home," Meerlinda whispered to the girl in French.

Fleur started shaking, but reigned it back in. She nodded and stepped away so that she could place the flowers on the grave. She placed a small handful on James' grave, a handful on Lily's, and then the rest on Harry's. She snorted and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

"Au revoir, mon amour," she whispered and momentarily placed a hand on the headstone. "Fais de beaux rêves."

She then stood up, until she swayed a little and felt nauseous. Meerlinda quickly caught her arm and kept her stable.

"Are you alright?"

"I am fine," Fleur nodded.

But Meerlinda was in for the shock of her unlife when she noticed Fleur's hands land on her lower stomach. Her hands seemed to caress it.

"You're pregnant," Meerlinda simply whispered.

Fleur looked at Meerlinda for a little, and then nodded.

"How long?"

"Right before the third task," Fleur said. "Harry and I spent the night together every day that week."

Fleur couldn't help the very minor chuckle.

"He said he doubted I would ever carry his child, seeing as werewolves seemingly have a hard time conceiving. But I suppose miracles really do happen."

Fleur simply stood and caressed her stomach.

"Don't worry, mon amour," she whispered at the grave with tears rolling down her cheeks. "I will make sure our daughter grows up loved, knowing how much you love her."

Meerlinda looked into the small patch of trees close by to see a pair of yellow eyes staring back. She nodded slightly, and Fleur looked up as well, only for her eyes to widen in shock.