Dark Lord Potter! Kills Aurors and Declares War on the Wizarding World!

The Daily Prophet the following morning brought out fonts as large as the ones that had declared Voldemort's final defeat little more than a year and a half prior.

There were photos of the burned-out cottage – or, Harry supposed, the scorched, dead earth where it had stood. The Fiendfyre had raged until there was nothing left, and only the fact that the cottage had been miles from anything else had kept it marginally contained. Even then the damage seemed to stretch forever in every direction.

Most of the issue was dedicated to him. Sensationalist articles about his 'fall from the light', one conspiracy theory after the other, suggestions that he'd had a hand in a number of Death Eater murders – several of them true – and only the newness of it all kept the issue from being full of letters condemning him.

The Ministry had a statement, as bland and professional as Harry had come to expect, talking about everything and nothing, but assuring the public that they would get to the bottom of this at any cost, and someone with Auror-grade information had talked about the number of times Harry had been a person of interest to them.

There were photos – a few from his early Hogwarts years and the Tri-Wizard Tournament, but mostly from the time after the Battle of Hogwarts. He had looked tired and grim but determined in those photos, and he supposed that was why they brought them out. It wasn't like they had photos of him being all Dark Lord-ish.

Most important to Harry, though, were the articles mentioning Ron and Hermione. Not as his school friends and fellow war heroes, but as potential followers. Potential allies. Potential targets, when Harry himself proved too hard to find. Their last known address had been with him at Potter Cottage, as none of them wanted to risk the Burrow becoming a target when they put Grimmauld under the Fidelius again.

Eventually he put down the paper and simply stared at the front page for a long time.

"I'm sorry." For getting them involved. For making them a target. For taking away their chance of a normal life. For getting them into something that had been his choice, and his alone, and which they had only gone along with because he was their friend.

Ron shrugged. "Eh. Didn't want a Ministry job, anyway."

There was more to it than that, there had to be, but it was also Ron. Ron, who was stubborn and temperamental and proud and loyal to the end. Ron, who had made up his mind and didn't see the point in debating it any further. Harry envied him that utter certainty.

Hermione made a soft sound from the couch. Harry looked at her and felt worry settle heavily in his mind. Ron made up his mind and rarely changed it again. Hermione made up her mind and rarely changed it – but that did not stop her from wondering or arguing or second-guessing it all.

"I suppose I always hoped it wouldn't come to this," she confessed. "It was going so well. The Foundation was getting somewhere. Until St Mungo's happened the Ministry had begun to listen. I just ... assumed."

She trailed off, staring at the paper neatly folded in her lap. "The Dark Lord Potter."

"Mrs. Weasley won't be happy. I'm surprised she hasn't shown up here yet." Her first reaction would probably have been a howler, before the war. Now Harry almost missed the thought of it.

Not that it would have gone through. The wards destroyed any howlers or other unpleasant surprises. The Fidelius and wards protected their home. Separate spells cast the moment their secret was out in the open kept the three of them untraceable by owl, which meant that only those that had been let in on the Fidelius could send an owl directly to their home. An owl box had been put in place a while ago, and the address given to those they didn't want to trust with Grimmauld itself. Only the Patronus messenger spell didn't care and worked through everything, the Fidelius included.

Andromeda had made due with a plain letter, making it clear that she expected Harry's presence at his earliest convenience, and that there would be explanations given. Harry was not about to argue with that.

Hermione shook her head. "I owled her yesterday and told her we would visit today and explain everything."

"I'm surprised she didn't visit for that," Harry said dryly.

"We told her the wards wouldn't let her in today for safety reasons." Ron this time, sounding vaguely sheepish. "Mum's – she worries, but we're both adults, and we all had other stuff to deal with. We said we'd explain everything in person instead."

Harry didn't like the sound of it – it was family, he trusted the Weasleys, but it could still be a trap and everything in him told him to stop it – but he forced himself to push through the immediate worry and trust his friends.

"Owls aren't completely safe," he merely reminded them instead. "I – if anything happens, tell me. Anything. I'll be there."

Because you're a target now, and they will come looking at the Burrow, he didn't say. He trusted them to understand what he meant, and Hermione reached over to squeeze his hand.

"We know."

He didn't have to like it, but he would trust them in this. Trust them, and be ready to descend upon the wizarding world like an enraged Horntail if he had to.


Ron and Hermione left for the Burrow shortly before lunch.

Harry was torn between staying at Grimmauld to be ready, should anything at the Burrow go wrong, and visiting Andromeda to get it over with.

In the end he settled for Andromeda. He trusted the Weasleys, and so far he had felt nothing bad through their bond. Worry, and a bit of anxiety – they were about to explain to Molly Weasley why they had taken up with a Dark Lord, after all – but nothing bad.

Besides, he owed Andromeda an explanation, and he didn't want her to lose her patience.

He half expected to be greeted by Aurors when he arrived with a sharp crack but then, Andromeda was a Black, and they always had different ideas than most about – well, most things.

Her expression was cool and utterly unreadable beyond that, but she let him in, anyway. The house was unnervingly quiet, and it must have shown, because Andromeda arched one aristocratic eyebrow. "Teddy is out for the day."

It hurt, for all that Harry had expected it, but he nodded his acceptance. Teddy's safety had always been paramount to both of them. That Andromeda now felt that he might be one of those dangers to her grandson ... Harry supposed he had only himself to blame.

"Would you feel more comfortable if I didn't have my wand?"

Andromeda's expression remained coolly detached as she considered the offer. "I suppose that would leave only wandless magic to be concerned about."

Harry didn't like the idea, less because it left him vulnerable and more because that in the event of trouble at the Burrow, he would be delayed by getting his wand back, but his bonds still felt reassuringly calm. He held out his wand handle first, and Andromeda accepted it and put it away in a drawer. That would rule out retrieving it with an easy wandless Summoning Charm, at least.

The tension in her shoulders eased just a little, and then she sighed.

"Harry James Potter." She packed a whole conversation's worth of exasperation, tiredness, and resignation into those three word. "What could possibly have made you decide that this was a good idea?"

Harry offered a wry smile. "Black madness?"

Andromeda's lips became a thin line. Harry got the distinct impression she did not appreciate his attempt at humour.

"Four generations removed? From someone who can resist the Imperius, I find it hard to believe."

Harry shrugged. "Well, I got the recklessness, at least." He ran a hand through his hair and saw Andromeda's grip on her wand tighten. "I arrived at eleven knowing nothing about this world, or my family, or what was expected of me. The one thing I've learned since then is that might makes right in the wizarding world. A few fought against Voldemort, but most were happy to stay quiet and hope for the best."

"Your point, Lord Potter?" Andromeda said coolly, saying the title much like Snape had said Gryffindor.

"My point? My point is that I have a godson who will, at best, be subtly discriminated against all his life. Right now he isn't allowed in St Mungo's. How long before his name is removed from the lists at Hogwarts? Even if he graduated, how long before he can't be hired anywhere just because Remus was a werewolf?"

Andromeda's expression tightened. Harry figured he had hit a sore spot.

"The Foundation does what it can to help, but it'll never succeed with the number of pure-blood supremacists and Voldemort supporters in charge. The wizarding world taught me that might makes right. I'm putting that lesson to good use."

"And will leave my grandson with his godfather dead or in Azkaban, in the grand tradition of the Blacks." Andromeda said waspishly.

Sirius. The pain had dulled but would probably never go away entirely. He hadn't known the man that well, but he had spent a lot of sleepless nights haunted by the could-have-beens.

He hoped Teddy would understand one day when he was old enough, but he was just as aware of the notoriety the boy would face as the godson of a Dark Lord. Harry had been the godson of Sirius Black, but he had also been the Boy Who Lived. He had been used to that sort of attention already.

Harry's decision would change a lot of lives, for better or for worse. Teddy would become a target just by association, but if Harry did his job right, then maybe that threat would be less than it could have been. Different, at least. Maybe they wouldn't care about his blood, just his association with Harry.

"I'm not godparent material," Harry said flatly. "The only reason I don't have nightmares every night is because I have Ron and Hermione there. I can't advise Teddy about classes or careers or whatever else a godfather is supposed to do, because I only ever had one task, and I'd either be dead or famous enough afterwards that I'd be able to get pretty much any job I wanted."

Andromeda looked like she was about to argue – or agree, probably – but Harry cut her off.

"What I do have is enough magic and influence behind my name that I'm a legitimate threat. And if I do this right, the worst of the bigots and Death Eaters will be gone and maybe we can get some decent laws in place for the Muggle-borns and part-humans. That, or I'll be enough of a threat that they'll focus on me and stop bothering the werewolves and the Squibs and the vampires and the Muggle-born, and all the others without a voice of their own."

"And if you don't?" Andromeda's expression was unreadable. Harry met it without flinching.

"Then I tried. And I'll do my best not to drag anyone else down with me."

For a long time they stood there in silence, Andromeda watching him and Harry staring back with every bit of the stubborn defiance that had brought him there in the first place.

Andromeda moved first. Tiredness replaced the cold detachment and she looked her age, her age and every last one of her many losses.

"Oh, Harry."

And maybe, just maybe it would be all right between them.


"Mum's worried. And not too pleased. And you better visit, young man, because we are still your family even if you – oh, Harry. A Dark Lord?" Ron recited dutifully when he returned along with Hermione that evening.

Harry smiled wryly. "I will. I promise."

"Andromeda?" Hermione asked worried.

"Worried," Harry said. "And not too pleased, either, but she didn't ban me from seeing Teddy. He won't be able to visit, but ..." he shrugged. "Probably safer that way, anyway. But she knows she's still welcome, and that Grimmauld is safe if they're ever in danger."

They settled down in silence. Mute appeared with tea and was gone an instant later. Eventually Harry glanced at Ron. "It's just a matter of time before the Ministry starts to look closer at the people around us. Eventually they'll come looking for your family."

Ron's expression turned grim. "Yeah. Mum and dad know, too. We already let everyone in on the Fidelius, though, so there's somewhere to go if it comes to that. George is the only one who incriminated himself with us. I mean, Bill can tell them he knew sort of what you were planning, and mum can tell them we're in contact with you, but that's not illegal."

Yet, he didn't say, but Harry and Hermione picked up on it just fine, anyway. The Ministry had a history of changing the rules when the words 'Dark Lord' started getting thrown about.

"George knows how to avoid the Ministry and if anyone, people seem more likely to believe we were involved in Lucius' murder along with Harry. We're the Golden Trio after all," Hermione said, a little bitter. "Well, used to be, I suppose."

"Might keep George out of the spotlight, then. Nev?"

"Hasn't been seen around us enough to be interesting," Ron said. "If they try, all they'll get is that he he offered to help and sent books from Hogwarts library to Hermione, and that you gave him the Lestranges' wands. They won't be happy with him, but there shouldn't be anything illegal enough that they can actually do anything."

"They'll learn about the Vow if they ask the right questions." Hermione frowned. "If they use Veritaserum ... they would need to ask some fairly specific questions, but they could find out. Bill knows, but he lives abroad. No one else knows about it. Just Neville."

"Which would make you a target." Harry winced. "I'm -"

"Harry James Potter, if you dare apologise for that, you will go to sleep with snakes for hair!"

"It's the truth," Harry said stubbornly.

"And I chose to do it! So don't you dare imply that I didn't know what I was getting into!"

Furious brown eyes met equally stubborn green ones in a familiar battle of wills. Harry backed down first.

"If he knew Occlumency ..." Truce?

"George and I have made decent progress with the notes you ... found. One of us could teach him what we've learned so far, if he agrees." Truce.

It wasn't near the sort of Occlumency Snape had to have mastered to lie to Voldemort's face, but at least it was more than Harry had managed. Hermione had tried to teach him what they had learned now and then, but no amount of effort had helped much. He knew enough to stay a little more clear-headed under Veritaserum, but most of his defence against the potion was a combination of their bonds and constant exposure. It had taken a long time, but he could feel the effects of that training. He didn't think he could lie, but he was a lot more aware under the potion these days, and he could delay his answers slightly. With enough motivation, they suspected he would be able to refuse to answer at all.

Occlumency was useful, but they had also accepted it would do Harry little good. A year later and Dorea Black's prediction about his blood still proved true.

"What about the contract?" Ron spoke up again, now that the immediate argument was over.

Hermione frowned. "We will burn it next time we see them. I would want to see it done, were I in their stead. It's served its purpose. It's just a risk to them now. No, Harry," she said before he could argue. "Even the wizarding world isn't stupid enough to believe you're doing this alone. They know we're involved. There is nothing in it worth risking Dean and the others for anymore."

Harry didn't like it, but he liked the idea of risking his friends' lives pointlessly even less. The secret was out in the open. There was very little point in trying to rein anything back in.


A number of letters arrived by owl or owl box that day.

The most entertaining one to Harry was the one from the Ministry, demanding he present himself for arrest or notify the appropriate authorities of his whereabouts, so that they could arrest him there. He assumed it was some sort of legal requirement, as he doubted they could possibly believe that would ever work. He hadn't told them about the owl box in the first place, but he supposed they had access to the records of its creation. It wouldn't help track him down or intercept his mail, but it obviously gave them a way to owl him.

He had halfway expected a letter from McGonagall, by way of Andromeda or Mrs. Weasley if nothing else, but Hogwarts remained silent. Then again, she probably wasn't surprised after their last meeting. He would have expected her to be angry, but more likely she had written him off as a lost cause already then. Flitwick ... wasn't against them but had made it clear that he would not get involved.

Hagrid ... Harry owed him an explanation, at least. Hagrid would never agree with what he was doing, but Harry owed him that much, for all that he would have to make due with a letter.

The letters from the people he knew personally were worried more than anything. He supposed they wanted to hear his version before they would believe the Prophet, then. All in all, considering his prior experiences with the Prophet and his schoolmates, that was more than he had hoped for.

He wrote back that day in his office under the watchful eye of Dorea Potter's portrait. When the last letter was sealed and handed over to Mute, he leaned back in the old chair and just breathed. One slow breath after the other, the tension in his muscles easing bit by bit.

"The Dark Lord Potter." Dorea Potter finally spoke. "The first in your family. Black and Potter both."

"I suppose," Harry answered softly, "that it's one thing people can't say I got from my parents."

His mother's eyes but oh, why didn't he have her studiousness? He father's looks and such a troublemaker – definitely his father's fault. Their skills with magic, and their courage, and their selflessness, and sometimes Harry hated it. The reminder of what he would never have, what he never knew. It was never stories, just appropriate bits of their personality someone brought out to make him follow along with whatever they wanted him to do.

Maybe this would remind them he was his own person. Maybe, when they were done telling everyone how they always knew he was a Dark Lord in training. Maybe, but probably not.

Dorea watched him for a long time. "Any regrets, young Lord?"

A hundred. A thousand. None that it would make any sense to linger on, with the point of no return long since past.

"No. Not anymore."


George risked a quick visit that day, too. Long enough to get a good look at the three of them and make sure they were okay before he had to return to Diagon. A hug for Hermione, a quick ruffle of Ron's hair, and a long look and a deliberately solemn nod at Harry.

"We've kept your name out of it," Harry said when George stayed unusually quiet. "They might still raid the shop for being owned by a Weasley, but we'll keep your name out of it."

"Thank you ... Lord Harrykins."

Harry laughed, George clasped his shoulder, and he knew that at least this one thing hadn't changed.


A letter from Brookstanton arrived via owl box the same evening, written in the intricate cursive Harry had grown somewhat familiar with.

Lord Potter,

Must you make it exceedingly difficult to run a Foundation on your behalf? I suppose this explains your unwillingness to have a place on the Board yourself.

Augustus Brookstanton

It wasn't a notice to inform him that Brookstanton's office was severing all ties to him, at least. Knowing the man, it sounded almost approving.


They received an invitation to Longbottom Manor on the morning of the 3rd. It arrived by Patronus, as Neville knew better than to risk putting anything into writing. The risk of anyone intercepting Neville's owl was small, but a Patronus messenger was all but impossible to interfere with.

The invitation was for that evening and, should they agree, Neville would try to get a couple of the others there, too. Some explanations, they all knew, were better done in person.

They glanced at each other, and Hermione sent her Patronus off with their reply. It could have been a trap, of course – and Harry would probably have to learn to suspect everything, friends included, now that their scheme was out in the open – but this was Neville, and they would trust him. He had trusted them often enough, and with far less information to go on.

They arrived arrived at Longbottom Manor well into the evening with the single, sharp crack of perfectly synchronised Apparition. Harry had a shield spell ready to cast, even if he doubted he would need it. It was a good habit to get into.

Nothing moved on the grounds. A detection spell from Hermione revealed nothing, either. Just the Manor itself, protected from any such magic.

Neville met them at the door. If he felt the least bit worried about meeting with them, it didn't show.

Harry broke the silence with a wry smile. "Hey, Nev. Happy New Year?"

Neville let out a sharp laugh. "Bloody hell, Harry." Tension broken, Neville greeted the three of them – Hermione with a polite half-hug, Ron and Harry with a clap on the shoulder.

"Your grandmother?" Hermione asked.

Neville waved them inside. "In the library. Writing a strongly worded letter about the shortcomings of Hogwarts' most recent choice in history books, I believe. She left strict instructions she does not wish to be disturbed about anything short of the second coming of Merlin."

Translation: Augusta Longbottom did not approve but was not about to involve the Ministry in what she probably saw as Neville's personal business, either.

Harry wondered briefly if that was how the Death Eaters had begun. With meetings hidden as merely catching up with old schoolmates, and the people around them very deliberately Not Seeing anything. It wasn't a pleasant thought.

"I told her about the Lestranges and showed her the wands," Neville added. "After the stuff in the Prophet ... it was enough that she let me explain."

Harry didn't mind. Augusta Longbottom deserved to know, and if it worked in their favour so much the better.

They followed Neville through the main house to one of the smaller, more homey sitting rooms. On a couch in the warm glow of the fireplace Susan and Hannah were waiting, with Dean in one of the heavy chairs. All three got to their feet when they noticed Neville's return.

Privacy spells in place, Susan seemed to have been elected their temporary spokesperson. While Hannah looked worried and Dean just a little tired, Susan's expression was unreadable as she stopped in front of Harry.

"Lord Potter, then?"

Harry straightened a little at the coolness in her voice, so similar to Andromeda's.

"To those who fought by my side ..." he said softly, echoing words from months before.

He didn't know if she would remember, but the gamble paid off when Susan smiled slightly and her voice warmed just a little, too.

"Harry."

"Harry," he agreed and repeated his promise. "Whatever happens."

Dean clasped his hand, and Hannah gave him a brief hug, and for a few minutes they were just seven schoolmates catching up on life.

"How are Ginny and Luna?" Dean eventually asked when tea and Firewhisky had arrived on the table and cups and glasses had been handed out. With four of the Ministry Six there, it was a reasonable question.

"Not involved in this," Ron stated. "They know. They stay out of it."

No other explanation was needed. Dean merely nodded and the topic was closed. His two months of Auror training or the painfully swift growing up they'd all had to do with Voldemort's return kept him from asking further.

Hermione broke the silence before it could become awkward. "I brought the contract along." She placed it on the table and waited long enough for Susan, Dean, and Hannah to read it.

Susan looked up again. "Why?"

"Incendio!" The contract flared brightly and was gone, leaving only ashes in its place. Hermione lowered her wand.

"I release you from any and all obligations we agreed upon," she said formally. Then she shook her head. "I would have wanted to see it done myself, if I had signed it. Let the others know, too, please. It's served its purpose. There is nothing worth your life in there anymore."

"Hermione has started to learn Occlumency. It's mind magic, one of the few ways to get around Veritaserum," Harry explained. "Nev ... if you'll agree, you should give it a try, too."

"The offer is open to all of you," Hermione added. "It requires trust, though. The best way to learn is to practice against a Legilimens – essentially, someone who can read your mind. I'm teaching Ron already."

She kept George's name out of it by mutual agreement. Between the two of them they were slowly cracking the idea of Occlumency, working far faster than they could have alone. No one else knew about George, though, and they planned to keep it that way for now.

Hannah's eyebrows arched high. "You can read minds?"

"I'm a novice. I learned though a lot of trial and error. Dumbledore was a master."

"Snape, too," Harry muttered, if loud enough for the rest to hear. "He was supposed to teach me. That went bloody brilliantly. Occlumency let him lie to Voldemort's face and get away with it, but he was a crap teacher. Didn't help he had it out for me."

Dean looked a little sick. Probably at the thought of Snape reading his mind. Harry understood completely.

"You must have learned eventually." Susan's eyes were sharp. "You managed to get through a Veritaserum questioning with at least one murder on your conscience."

"Four," Harry admitted. "If your definition of murder is anything that can't be considered accidental or self-defence. A Death Eater from the Diagon Alley attack in January, the Lestrange brothers, and Malfoy."

A minor lie when it came to Malfoy but close enough to the truth. It also let him dodge the actual question.

Susan's expression grew harder. "I'm an Auror in training. I don't want to know this, Harry."

"No, but you should, anyway." Harry stood and paced, anger and restless energy taking over. "I'm a Dark Lord, Susan. Dark Lord, as in capable of casting all three Unforgivables with ease, committing cold-blooded murder when it suits me, and throwing Fiendfyre around like bloody Hallowe'en candy! This isn't some great adventure. This isn't the DA. I didn't claim that title because I intended to fight by the rules. I claimed that title because if I have to paint every last brick in the Ministry with blood to get my point across, then so be it."

Harry stopped. No one spoke. It could have been his rant, but he suspected it was more due to the ominous rattle of the teacups. He took a slow breath. The rattle faded and the heavy feeling of magic faded with it.

"Dean seems to be under the impression this is one of those heroic, self-sacrificing things I got into at Hogwarts so often. That might very well be the case. It doesn't change the fact that the only way every last 'reformed' Death Eater in the Ministry and Wizengamot isn't stone cold dead by the end of it is if they get to me first."

"Us," Ron corrected with a hard expression. "If they get to us first."

Susan looked at Hermione. "And you agree with this?"

Hermione looked pained and a little resigned. "No. I don't like what it will do to Harry." Her expression hardened. "But it's still Harry. Ron put it quite well – if they get to us first. I don't agree, but I'll support him to the end."

Harry didn't know what he had done to deserve friends like them, but he would never stop being grateful for it. Grateful, and determined to do everything he could to keep them safe ... much, he admitted, like they would do for him. It was a little hard to protect them when they were just as stubborn about being right there with him.

"How Hufflepuff," Hannah murmured, but there was a small, tired smile on her lips. "We always figured Hermione was the wrongly sorted Ravenclaw."

"No, she broke too many rules to be a Ravenclaw," Ron said cheerfully. "She'd have ruled them with an elder wand within a week. Better be Gryffindor."

"Ron!"

Hannah laughed. The sound seemed to make Susan ease up, too, and Dean with her. Neville took the chance to offer the bottle of Firewhisky before the heavy discussion could start again.

A round of full glasses later Neville raised his drink. "To fruitful discussions?" he asked dryly.

"Works for me." Harry looked at Neville, raised his glass in turn, and deliberately downed it in one shot before Neville could touch his own.

He knew Neville got the message when the man stood a little straighter and downed his own drink as well.

I trust you not to poison me. He supposed that since he'd just shot right back up to Undesirable No. 1 again, Neville would understand the weight that actually carried.

Warm fondness carried through the bond from Hermione. Ron just shook his head a little, but Harry felt the fondness from his side of the bond as well. Both of them got it, too, then.

The Firewhisky eased the lingering tension. For a long time they just sat there, each with a glass and simply enjoyed the warmth of the fireplace and the alcohol. Then Susan sighed and Harry knew the discussion was about to start again.

"You made a mistake when you targeted the Aurors they sent to arrest you," she said. "Nott wasn't well-liked, but he was an Auror, and Hipworth was friendly with most. Kill an Auror, and you will have the entire force after you. You killed two, and the Minister is a former Auror himself."

"Voldemort didn't seem to have that problem." Harry shrugged. "Maybe he had the right idea. Sway half the force to your side and keep the other half too cowed or bogged down in politics to be useful."

Dean winced at that. Neville and Hannah didn't look too comfortable, either. Susan looked downright furious.

"Harry. Most people don't like being told Voldemort had a point." Hermione sounded resigned. "Especially not by a newly declared Dark Lord."

"They should stop proving him right, then." If Harry sounded just a little annoyed, he figured he had every right to. "The useful Aurors were targeted by Voldemort because they would be an actual bloody nuisance to him. The ones he killed were the good ones. He didn't have a reason to bother with the rest, since they just rolled over and obeyed whoever happened to be in charge."

"That doesn't give you the right to kill innocents!" Susan's Firewhisky flared sharply in response to her anger. "Yes, Nott was a Voldemort toady that only avoided punishment because he wasn't Marked, but Hipworth wasn't! He had a wife! He had a family!"

"Unlike a dozen of our schoolmates, the two of us included, who have no one left because the Ministry and the Aurors failed when we needed them and left the wizarding world in Voldemort's hands. I won't target innocents," Harry hissed, "but I will bloody well defend myself when I have to. That includes not going meekly to Azkaban. If I cross that line, I have three people willing to take me down, and I can absolutely assure you, Auror Trainee Bones, that they stand a much better chance at success than anyone in your department ever will."

A hand on his arm – smaller, lighter; Hermione – cut through his anger. The roar in his ears, of fury and raw magic in his blood, mingled with the roar of the fireplace where the flames burned unnaturally bright and tall.

It was easy to lose control of his magic these days. He wasn't sure if it was his emotions or his magic's simple delight in stretching its wings. Both, probably.

The inferno died. The stinging heat eased and the room returned to a comfortable temperature. A sharp wave of his hand saw the soot vanish where it had overwhelmed the protective spells. Susan met his stare without flinching although he could tell by the tightened grip on her wand that she had seen the wandless magic he had cast.

"And when those same people refuse to stop you because they agree with you? Do you expect me to trust that three confidants of a Dark Lord can tell when he's crossed the line?" Susan's fury had settled into cold anger.

"If you don't trust Ron and Hermione, then trust Neville." Harry glanced at the man, then back at Susan. "For what it's worth, there were two possibly children of the Prophecy. Only chance made me the Boy Who Lived instead of Neville."

"The Dark Lord's equal," Neville murmured, if loud enough to be heard in the silence. "You'll forgive me if I'm glad that job fell to you."

Hermione's hand tensed on his arm. Ron on the couch tensed with her. Less than a second, but enough that Harry spotted it.

The Dark Lord's equal. The words settled like lead.

It referred to the Horcrux he left in you. Hermione's presence was instantly there, warm and bright. She knew him better than he knew himself in some regards.

Ron grimaced. Divination is a woolly subject, mate.

Maybe, or maybe they just didn't want to consider the alternative. Harry shoved the thought aside to answer Neville.

"I'd have thought the same thing if our roles had been reversed," he admitted. "As it was, you still had to deal with Nagini."

"Kill the snake?" Neville remarked wryly, echoing words they had spoken that day in Hogwarts that felt like a lifetime ago.

"Kill the snake."

No one else got the reference, though Ron and Hermione had a pretty good idea. Harry didn't mind.

Susan watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. Dean seemed to be okay with Susan as their spokesperson and stayed quiet. Hannah, Harry was starting to suspect, was the key to Susan's acceptance. She didn't speak, but she listened and Susan seemed to take some cues from her.

Harry knew better than to underestimate the two just because they were Hufflepuffs. Sneakiness was not just a supposedly Slytherin trait.

Susan is their front. Hannah is the one we need to convince.

Ron's eyes flickered to Hannah. Yeah. Looks about right to me.

Hermione took a moment longer to reply. I think they're counting on Susan to distract us and make us reveal more than we planned. She gets whatever information she can from you, and Hannah goes through it while Susan keeps us busy.

Harry nodded slightly. Do we call them on it?

Yes. Ron's response was almost instant. We can't do much with the information, and we need to prove we can do this. Everyone saw Professor Dumbledore as omniscient. It didn't matter if it was true or not, as long as they believed it. It was the same with Voldemort. Even before the Taboo and when he was supposed to be dead, people still refused to speak his name because they were afraid to draw his attention. We need to pull off the same impression.

Made sense. Harry turned his attention to the woman in question.

"Hannah?"

She arched an eyebrow in a silent question. Harry glanced at Susan, then back at her. "You're the deciding vote between you and Susan. A nice little game of good Auror, bad Auror. If you have doubts, I'd like the chance to explain, at least."

Susan's expression turned a little rueful, and Dean barked a short laugh. "I told you they'd figure it out."

Hannah just smiled, a pretty little curve of her lips that made Neville sneak a hand over and entwine his fingers with hers. The awkward little dance of maybe-mutual attraction seemed to be going somewhere, at least.

"My grandmother was a Slytherin. I was always a Hufflepuff, but she taught me to be sneaky."

"The Hat told me Slytherin," Harry said dryly. "I decided to beg for Gryffindor when the alternative was sharing a dorm with Malfoy for seven years. Besides, all everyone had told me was that Slytherin was for Dark wizards."

Not that Gryffindor or Slytherin made much difference to Harry anymore, and certainly not when he had long since accepted that he would never know how much had been him and how much had been the Horcrux on that day of the Sorting. Other people still cared, though, and he accepted that, too.

"Can't say I blame you." Dean made a vaguely disgusted face. "Don't think I could share a dorm with the Ferret without punching him every time he opened his mouth."

"A Gryffindor-Slytherin Dark Lord." Susan watched him carefully. "I don't think there's ever been one of those before. But then, you would have been the first Gryffindor Dark Lord that we know of, too. Most of them have been Slytherin, with an eclectic mix of Ravenclaw thrown in. Hufflepuff has too much of a support network that we allow it to get that far, and most Gryffindors avoid Dark magic."

"It makes sense." Hannah again, watching him just as carefully as Susan did. "You're not lying, but you've done your best to frighten us. Ambitious enough to do whatever it takes to win, but stubborn and loyal enough to do your best to keep us out of it for our own good. One question, Lord Potter."

"Harry."

"Not in this case, Potter. You claimed the title yourself. Get used to it." Hannah's eyes narrowed. "You're a powerful wizard. Do you really believe that any of the people around you would stand a chance if they had to stop you?"

"Yes." He didn't even need consider that reply.

"There are contingency plans in place, then," Hannah concluded. "Or you wouldn't sound so sure."

"... Yes." A little more reluctant this time but an honest response none the less, for all that he would not go into details. Even confirming it was a risk in this case, but one they were willing to take.

Hannah didn't seem to want those details, either. Instead she looked at Susan. A silent conversation seemed to happen between them, punctuated by little gestures and changes in their expressions. A glance at Neville, followed by a nod from him. Only then did she speak.

"We can't condone the murder of innocents. Neville trusts you for now, though, and we trust Neville. Dean spoke up for you, too. We'll give you the benefit of doubt."

"Occlumency lessons would be a good idea, though," Susan added. "For all of us. We know some fairly incriminating things."

Harry nodded and felt some of the tension drain from him. They weren't entirely on board, but they were willing to not go straight to the Ministry. That counted as a victory, too.

We need a place to meet for lessons, Ron said silently. Grimmauld isn't an option.

The Norfolk safe-house? The smaller of the former Lestrange safe-houses, it was also the more comfortable one. If they were going to practice Occlumency for any period of time – and it took practice, lots of it – Harry wanted them to have somewhere decent to do it. They still had the second safe-house as backup.

Hermione didn't answer but nodded and wrote the Secret to the Fidelius on a conjured piece of paper. She slid it across the table to allow the others to read it. A swift Incendio later and it was gone again. "Nothing the Ministry will not figure out eventually. If you still want to, we do have a place to meet. It's under the Fidelius, obviously, so it should be safe. We can Side-Along you the first time. We won't have to risk meeting somewhere unprotected, then."

"What about Ernie and Anthony?" Harry asked.

"Anthony's little sister was sorted into Ravenclaw this year but transferred to Beauxbatons over the holidays. It was too late to transfer her effective from the beginning of the school year by the time he signed the contract. He's still in France to make sure she gets settled."

Get her clear of Britain before the next Dark Lord went on a rampage. Harry couldn't blame him. Especially not when he had advance warning.

"Ernie's interning at St Mungo's, and they like to keep their new trainees working the late shifts," Susan explained. "They're both waiting for our verdict, but they will probably need Occlumency lessons as well if it's possible."

To Harry it sounded like an awful lot of effort to put into protecting information the Ministry had a pretty good idea about, anyway. Then again, they had secrets of their own to keep. Susan had warned him that Aurors were on their way to question him – enough to kick her out of the Auror program and earn her a pretty hefty fine, at the very least. Neville had been their contact at Hogwarts, and while Dean hadn't done anything illegal, he had still all but declared his support of a Dark Lord.

Anthony and Ernie had been very careful about not saying anything that could incriminate them later. If they kept their heads down, no one would expect them to have known a thing. That they would need lessons ...

"What is Anthony up to these days?" he asked mildly. "He wasn't sure what his plans were when I asked him."

Susan gave Harry a considering look. "Anthony is a former Ravenclaw Prefect with excellent grades and one of the defenders of Hogwarts," she said idly. "When a position as junior assistant with the Floo Network Authority opened up in November, they were very pleased to hire him."

Harry wasn't familiar enough with the finer details of magical government to know the importance of that. Ron, with a father in the Ministry, caught on instantly.

The Floo Network Authority has access to all Floo addresses in the country. Name, owner, and physical location for everything but Unplottable places. Ron swallowed. Merlin. If we had access to that -

If. Hermione was their voice of reason as always. We can't just assume that he would help.

"An important position," Harry said just as idly, "with potential access to a lot of information."

Susan stayed silent. Finally Harry caved.

"Why? He would run a serious risk if anyone found out, and you know what I would use that information for."

They had all seen the damage a Voldemort sympathiser could cause with access to that information. The Floo would be warded, of course, but a physical address was far more than they had now for a lot of the targets Harry had in mind.

"The Carrows went to Azkaban. Macnair, Rookwood, Dolohov – all of them got life in Azkaban. Nott, Selwyn, and Rowle let a single Marked family member take the fall. Those low-level Death Eaters we actually caught after the final battle got anywhere from fined to life, depending on their crimes. Malfoy, Avery, and Travers had the gold to plead the Imperius and bury the courts in enough legal loopholes that it went through – helped, in Malfoy's case, by the fact that you spoke up for him."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Your point?"

"For every Marked Death Eater we caught, two more escaped. For every family who gave up one of their own to take the fall, two more unmarked Voldemort supporters hide in the shadows to carry on his work. That's not counting the silent supporters that never officially joined, like the Parkinson and Burke families," Susan said.

"Neville, Ernie, and I – our families are all considered to be among the Sacred Twenty-Eight and in good standing, unlike the Weasley family." Hannah's expression darkened. "That I'm a half-blood can apparently be ignored because no one has bothered to update the Pure-blood Directory since the nineteen-thirties. We might not have been Dark families, but we were of proper, pure blood and that made us acceptable company. We all grew up around the purest of the pure. Not all Dark families are bad, but the core of them – if they had it their way, Muggle-borns would have no more rights than house-elves, half-bloods and blood-traitors wouldn't be allowed in any position of importance, and Merlin help you if you had non-human blood in you. They revel in their status as some of the last truly pure families and intermarry to keep the Muggle taint away."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "The Gaunt family was on that list, wasn't it?"

"Extinct now, but yes."

"Voldemort descended from that line. Tom Marvolo Riddle, only child of the Muggle Tom Riddle and pure-blood Merope Riddle, born Merope Gaunt," Harry said flatly. "She was nearly a Squib. The Black family was one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, too, and they had all sorts of issues from inbreeding."

"Was?" Hannah frowned "Your godson is the Black heir, isn't he?"

Harry's answering smile was just a little vicious. "The half-blood son of a werewolf, and the grandson of a disowned Black. I doubt the Sacred Twenty-Eight want anything to do with him."

Dean coughed. It sounded suspiciously like an attempt to hide a laugh.

"... Was, then," Hannah conceded. "The point is – we know these people. We grew up with them. No amount of arguments and campaigning will make them change their mind about those of lesser blood. Even those of pure blood were only safe from them until they became a problem. Neville lost his parents. I lost my mother. Ernie's uncle is a warder, and they only stayed safe due to the highly illegal wards he raised. Most of the other families supported Voldemort or kept their heads down because they knew they would be safe and didn't care about the rest of the wizarding world."

"So murder is all right as long as Harry goes after families you don't like?" Hermione's expression had gone from frowning to furious. Harry was vaguely reminded of her house-elf crusade.

"No." Neville's voice carried through the room. "No," he repeated. "But two wars have changed nothing." He swallowed and looked up, meeting Harry's eyes without flinching. "We're saying that if this is what we're supposed to aspire towards, the future of the wizarding world, then maybe we deserve another Dark Lord. You won't target children. You won't deliberately target innocents. That's more than what Voldemort or Grindelwald did. Merlin, that's more than what Fudge's Ministry did."

Harry looked around. Susan's expression was grim, but she didn't argue. Hannah just looked tired, but her tight grip on Neville's hand betrayed her nervousness.

"Dean?"

The Gryffindor grimaced. "You three always made it look so easy, you know. Run straight into whatever insane danger got into Hogwarts that year and come out of it bruised but victorious. I know it wasn't that easy looking back, but it was still intimidating sometimes. This is – we're not interrogating you for the hell of it. We had to be sure. We're not you. We're not used to taking those leaps of faith and hope we land on our feet. Bloody hell – if you'd been Voldemort, this would have been the point where we talked about taking your Mark."

Harry felt a chill down his spine.

"Dean -"

"No, Harry -" Dean stopped himself and started over. "Lord Potter. You're the best chance we have to make the wizarding world a place we want to live in. Is it perfect? No. But you're the only one willing to do what it takes. We want to help, and if all we can do is pass along information or make sure you have a properly trained healer available, then that's what we'll do."

"Call us," Neville said, as stubborn and defiant as the first time he had made that promise. "We'll answer."

Hermione's hand found Harry's and gave it a squeeze. On his other side, he felt Ron's hand on his shoulder.

Harry swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat.

"I won't answer to 'my Lord'," he said hoarsely.

Neville gave him a wry smile. "And that's why you'll probably earn it, anyway. Let us help, Harry. Please."

Against that, Harry supposed there was very little left to argue about.


Hagrid,

If no one else will fix the stupid blood-purist ideas that allowed Voldemort to rise in the first place, then I will. My godson will not be a second-class citizen.

I'm sorry.

Harry

Harry sent the letter and the address for his owl box off to Hogwarts with an anonymous-looking post owl the following morning.

It wasn't much of an explanation, but it was all Harry could give. All that his reasons came down to in the end. He didn't doubt McGonagall would see it. Shacklebolt, too, probably. Harry was okay with that.


The wizarding world, once they had actually believed it, had reacted to Voldemort's return with their usual resilience and dignity.

The Ministry had panicked, Fudge had been busy trying to save his own career, and the Aurors were caught between too many influences and contradicting orders to be of much use to anyone.

The Ministry under Shacklebolt might still have been corrupt and bigoted, but it had clearly been whipped into shape.

The Burrow, Longbottom Manor, the Tonks home, and Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes were raided on the morning of the 4th in a perfectly synchronised strike.

"Start with the most obvious places," Ron said afterwards, when Patronus messengers had arrived from all four places. "If they had been lucky, you would have been stupid enough to stay there. Since you weren't, it's a message that they're going after your possible support base, and that you won't be safe there. They will hunt you down, and they want you to know it. Anything related to the Weasley family is obvious. Same with the Tonks family. Neville – he was part of the Ministry Six. They would probably have gone after the Lovegood home, too, if Luna didn't live in the Burrow now."

There had been pointed questions, too, of course, but no one had been brought in for formal questioning. Later on the DMLE could probably get away with that, but for now those entirely unfounded suspicions and random spells in the dark were not enough to get someone interrogated about Harry's potential whereabouts.

Harry would apologise when he saw them in person. Beyond that there was little they could do but hope the Aurors wouldn't bother them again any time soon.


"We should probably start carrying bezoars, too," Hermione mused that afternoon in the library. "And brush up on spells to detect potions and such in our food."

Harry blinked. "If anyone got close enough to do something like that – would they really be stupid enough to use something a bezoar could work against?"

"It is wizarding Britain."

Point.

Harry stared at the book in his lap. It was a heavy compendium of shield spells that he would normally have found genuinely interesting, but today he was stuck reading the same four paragraphs over and over.

"Did we do the right thing?" He finally put words to the gnawing worry that had bothered him all day. "Accepting their help?"

"We can't do it alone." Ron, pragmatic as always. "We'd have tried but we're just the three of us. Five, counting George and Neville."

Hermione shifted uneasily. "There will be more of a risk that someone will betray us, too. They're our friends, and I trust them, but there will be others. You won't admit it, but you know it just as well as we do."

"I won't Mark them."

"I know," Hermione agreed. "A contract set up for – for actually being involved and not just for the secret could be an alternative, if we wanted that. They don't know much right now the Ministry hasn't already deduced. Even if one of them found a way around the Fidelius on the safe-house, we can afford to lose it. That might not be the case later. What if you have to rely on their information? What if you have to trust someone at your back and they turn on you?"

"You and George," Ron interjected. "It's both of you running the risk out there."

Harry leaned back until he rested on the old carpet, staring at the darkened ceiling high above. "Snape got around the Dark Mark easily enough. He could probably have found a way around pretty much any contract, too. Honestly? If it had just been me, I'd probably have been a Gryffindor about it. Trust my best judgement and if it failed ... deal with the consequences, I guess, and hope that whoever it was at least had a good reason to betray me."

"And now?"

Harry turned his head just enough to see Hermione. "I don't know. I'll ask George what he thinks. We've managed to keep his name out of it for now. We've got a while before it becomes a problem."

A contract with the sort of penalty they played with was risky. Harry wasn't altogether sure he wanted to use it when there was no guarantee it would be foolproof. Keeping information secret was one thing. Actively helping out opened a whole new set of loopholes to watch out for.

Voldemort hadn't cared what his Mark might do to his followers. Then again, Voldemort was dead. That said a lot about his strategy right there.


The Headmistress thinks yer dabblin in Dark magic. I knew yer supposed te be a Dark Lord now but yer a good kid, Harry. Take care of yerself, hear?

Harry read the letter twice and burned it, but his heart felt a little lighter afterwards.


They risked an unannounced visit to the Burrow the following day.

Given Andromeda's reaction Harry hadn't been sure what to expect, but Molly Weasley hadn't sounded like she was about to hand him to the Aurors. That was a start.

Molly Weasley opened the door and froze, a startled expression on her face. Then her surprise fled to be replaced by relief. "Oh, Harry. We were so worried."

The next few minutes were a flurry of hugs and worried exclamations, in between frowns and wobbly smiles. Eventually they found themselves inside, settled in a comfortably worn couch and with a slice of cake and mug of hot cocoa each. Harry took a careful sip and then sighed happily. Absolutely perfect, like everything Molly made.

The sound of soft footsteps on the staircase announced the arrival of another person.

"You don't very Dark Lord-ish to me," Ginny noted.

"I don't feel very Dark Lord-ish," Harry admitted. "Hot cocoa?"

Ginny smiled. There was a little wariness in the gesture, but she settled down on the couch with them under her mother's approving smile. "Luna is out today. She's visiting her father."

"That's all right." Harry eyes flickered to Molly. "I – owe your mum an explanation. An apology, too. I'm sorry about the Aurors, Mrs. Weasley."

"Molly," she corrected him. "And never you mind them. I told them what was what, and they'll be a lot more polite about it next time, I'll tell you that." Her smile wavered just a little. "Oh, Harry."

A number of people in his life felt the need to tell him that. All of them, Harry noted, could put all kinds of fond exasperation and concern in those two words.

Harry stared at his mug of cocoa before he forced himself to look back up. He would not be ashamed. He owed her an explanation – he owed the entire Weasley family an explanation – but he would not be ashamed. "Ron and Hermione explained most of it, didn't they?"

"About poor Teddy Lupin and the Foundation you set up, they did. But you still owe me an explanation, young man. Dark Lord? You'll get yourself killed! Where would you even get that foolish idea? The Potters were the lightest of the light."

"Not that light," Harry offered. "They interbred with the Blacks a couple of times. I ... " He trailed off, aware that he was stalling. Everyone needed a slightly different approach. Molly, in many ways the closest thing to a mother he had ever known, still saw them as children, and he would have to do something about that first.

In the end he decided for brutal honesty. Andromeda Tonks, a Slytherin and a Black, understood power in all its incarnations. Molly Weasley, a Gryffindor and a Prewett, needed the truth of the situation hammered home.

"Mrs. Weasley, the wizarding world raised me to be a killer. The Prophecy stated I would have the power to vanquish Voldemort – effectively that it was him or me. It never stated that the wizarding world should lean back, pretend nothing was wrong, and wait for me to fix all their problems. The Order fought. Those few Aurors not on Voldemort's side or tied up in bureaucracy fought. How many others can say the same?"

Molly's eyes looked suspiciously blank. "Molly, Harry. And people tried. So many lives were lost."

"Most didn't. They expected me to take care of their problems. I was a pariah when I told them something they didn't like, and a Saviour when Voldemort was breathing down their necks. Now Voldemort is gone, and the wizarding world is no better than it was when I first arrived. They raised a killer to keep their own hands clean. They can't complain when I decide to fix the rest of the problems they have."

Molly Weasley was silent for a long time. She wasn't shouting at him, and she hadn't kicked him out yet. He supposed that was a good sign.

"Oh, Harry," she sniffled. "You already gave so much already in the war. You're a good boy, and they will hunt you down like – like a Death Eater."

Harry smiled wryly. "I've been chased by much worse than them."

"And he's not alone," Ron said stubbornly. "We're with him."

It apparently wasn't the right thing to say, because Molly's eyes turned tearful and she turned aside to blow her nose.

"Ron!" Ginny whispered sharply. Ron looked a little chastised, but the stubborn look remained.

Molly sniffled again and dried her eyes. "No, no. It's – my little boy. All of you. But you haven't been children in so long. We failed you all so horribly."

Hermione, sitting closest, reached over and held her hand. "Not you, Molly. Never you. Not the Weasleys, or the Longbottoms, or the Lovegoods, or all the others who tried to keep us safe. The wizarding world failed, and now we're trying to fix it. For Teddy, and Hagrid, and Bill and Lavender, and all the others the people in charge don't think are human."

Molly looked at them, from Hermione's earnest sympathy to Ron's stubbornness and finally to Harry's own quiet defiance.

Then the tears reappeared. Ron, obviously panicked, blurted out the first thing he could think of.

"The Cannons might make the finals this season!"

It didn't make the tears stop but Molly managed a watery smile, so Harry considered that a victory.


Ginny hugged him tightly when they left. "Be careful. Please. And ... thank you." For Malfoy, she didn't say.

"I'll try," Harry promised. He'll never hurt you again. Him or Riddle. Not anymore.