Harry Scamander and the King of the Animals

Chapter 14

Lily Potter was nervous. Her daughter was petrified at St. Mungos, her husband was currently running to speak with Sirius, who had lost another relative, and Dumbledore was apparently ashen with his right hand trembling. The old wizard was probably risking a stroke if anything and it took Minerva herself to pry him away from the dining table. Severus was already gone, probably to potions, and she was now debating whether to walk back into the infirmary or not. She could floo-in to St. Mungos, visit her daughter, hoping that some Mandragora had matured before time…but it would be useless and the students needed her here.

As she settled down in the infirmary the door practically opened few seconds later, letting a Hufflepuff second year enter visibly skittering and afraid. The boy was practically white in fear as he stood warily within the boundaries of the door.

"Can I help you?" She asked gently, only for the boy to shake his head fast. Lily scrunched her face, "Why are you here then? Someone's hurt?" She just had to suppress the fact that her son, Harry, was basically the Heir of the wickedest of the founders, a parseltongue and the master of a basilisk. That creature alone stood at the height of the most dangerous and deadly creatures ever known to mankind! The Hufflepuff boy didn't reply to her question, instead kind of hesitating on the spot.

"Is there something you need? Otherwise, young man, shouldn't you be heading off towards your lessons, you know?" As she made a small smile in the boy's direction, she was surprised when the boy merely nodded quickly and then dashed off. The woman raised an eyebrow in surprise but said nothing. Maybe the Hufflepuff had wanted to speak with Madam Pomfrey, and instead had found her and hadn't been willing to share the trouble. Lily sighed as she began to look at the infirmary's supplies, it wasn't going to be a normal year at all…and Christmas had yet to come to begin with.

*Albus Dumbledore*

It was not shock that made the old wizard's hands tremble. It was not fright and it certainly was not fear. It was rage. He had always prided himself of being able to perfectly keep a calm exterior, and yet in front of those glowing red eyes that so much made him remember Tom…his hand had trembled. He had wanted to hip out his wand and pulverize the boy where he stood, but he could not, and he knew perfectly well why. Even though he was the hero who ended up the war, the hero whom Voldemort feared, he was holding a strenuous position within Hogwarts at best.

The portraits had stopped appearing in his office, and the ghosts refused his calls. Peeves himself was more of a hassle than a mere addition to the castle, and somehow not only had the chamber of secrets been opened under his nose, but he knew that Harry knew. Harry's words had hit him, but the boy, while completely direct in some things, had kept the biggest bouts secret…because they could not be proved still, and Albus knew that someone had to have been training him.

If he had added anything directly to him, Albus had no doubts he could have crushed the boy through political clout alone, claim him a liar and force thus the Wizengamot to overrule the boy's claims on having complete control over the basilisk. Then he could merely have the beast killed, yet the boy hadn't brought the Wizengamot into it, but had merely implied offhandedly, and somehow…somehow his skill at Occlumency was greater than his. That went against all the reports that had the boy as nothing more than a hardworking boy who barely scraped by his classes, yet it didn't apparently matter when it came to his mind, and even Severus couldn't possibly be merited for it: the man had even yet to start a lesson with the boy.

The only positive thing would be Severus' private lessons: the man would eventually manage to get through the boy's defenses, as he always did. His potion master was after all ferociously loyal to the cause, and Dumbledore held against him the secret on who, truly, gave away the prophecy to Voldemort. The man wouldn't dare double cross him, or he would lose everything. Smiling lightly, he popped a lemon drop into his mouth just as Fawkes' plumage turned far more greyish and decaying. Within seconds, the phoenix burst into flames and died, only for the crying sound of an infant phoenix to soon come from the same spot covered in ashes.

"A pity." Albus whispered to no-one in particular in the room, "But small evil must be done for the greater good after all."

*Ginny Weasley*

She was trembling. The boy…the boy had really been the Heir of Slytherin. The…The diary had said it wasn't true but…but now Tom wasn't there for her and she…she felt at a loss. She should have gone to his side before. She should have known that anyone her brother hated was in truth far better than anyone else. She didn't know why of course, but she knew it had to be her fault everything was going so much down the drain. First it had been Slytherin, if only because that stupid journal…no, Tom, her wonderful friend, had convinced her to seek more, to have more, to be ambitious if for once in her life.

No, Tom had corrupted her and was an evil person, the journal had left her. Yet it wasn't possible…the journal wouldn't leave her side: someone had to know how to get inside the Slytherin's common room to grab it, right? There was no way…Tom was innocent. It…It had to be Harry. He had entered the common room the night before as if he owned the place, who was there to say he hadn't done so before, to steal her journal?

Apparently the Defense against the Dark Arts professor had been the only one in the faculty stricken by the news, although some murmured he had merely gone to warn the flying professor. So for that first period they did not have lesson and while everyone else either headed back to the common rooms or the library, the Ravenclaws still moving in their stupid formations that resembled praetorian legions marching to battle, she headed off towards the Hufflepuff boy. She could do this after all. She just had to…to tell him she was sorry, and ask forgiveness for having been forced.

Every Slytherin knew that excuse by heart. 'It wasn't my fault: I was paid to do it.' 'I didn't want to, but they forced me.' Things like those were common excuses, and while many times they did not work, it was never a waste of breath to try. She'd be damned if she didn't get on the winning side of this castle by the end of the first year. She could tolerate having to spend a horrendous summer with false smiles from her mother, because clearly she knew her mother wouldn't let her Slytherin-daughter in peace, but…but she couldn't be miserable both in school and out of it.

This time around, she'd stay by the side of the winner.

*Neville Longbottom*

Neville wasn't used being the center of the attention. He especially wasn't used being a group leader or anything like that. He was a Hufflepuff, technically, he was meant to follow and be loyal about it. He wasn't meant to answer questions about if he knew or not of who Harry really was beforehand, or if he believed in him or even if he had been a part of a conspiracy to have him present himself as Heir in front of everyone.

He didn't even know Harry was the heir of Slytherin till then! How could they come up and ask him questions about it? Like what the chamber of secrets was like, if he had ever explored it, or if the basilisk was actually there. Some even asked him if he knew what Harry could do. Some rumors claimed the Heir could twist reality and bend necks by merely hissing words in parseltongue, others claimed he could make fire pour down from the skies and transform into a basilisk himself.

Of course Neville had done his best to claim them untrue…by blubbering and stuttering most of the time, but when some students come up and ask you how Harry actually managed to survive the stare of the basilisk, because some rumor claimed it was a rite of passage for the Heir of Salazar, what else could he say? The entire school was in uproar: the student body was completely and utterly out of their wits, many already making lines to write back home to their parents and families.

The words concerning what organization Harry wished to create at Hogwarts was also on the mouth of everyone. Some claimed he would rise as a Dark Lord while others went by the romantic plot of a dark Hero ascending to light. A few even hinted at romance with his sister, and frankly Neville didn't want to hear about that.

The true problem was that now, at potions, Harry was right next to him and grinning as if he had won the lottery. People pointed at him and stared and whispered, and all the boy did was act just like some sort of poster boy. Yet behind those green eyes, Neville saw flickers of coldness and hatred, intermixing with something else, something so wrong it made him tremble at the mere thought. Was this the feeling of standing by the side of an Heir of the Founders? Was this the feeling of standing next to a turning wheel of fate? He understood then, as he chopped down asphodel roots: history was in the making, and he could choose whether to be a part of it, or watch from the sidelines.

Strangely, the idea scared him down to the depths of his wits and beyond.

He couldn't even keep track of his toad, for Merlin's sakes! Who was he to stand by the side of people who would be jolted down in history!?

*Draco Malfoy*

He had to write home of course. This news was too big to just leave unscathed, but it wasn't as if he could actually skip the potion's master lesson now, could he? Severus Snape was the head of House Slytherin, and unless a student was on his death bed, the order to follow the lessons was mandatory on pain of… Well, death would have been kinder than scrubbing cauldrons with a toothbrush.

Yet he didn't know if he should do so. Should he write home to his father? Normally, he'd counsel to his mother, and then she would edit his letters and deliver them to him in such a way as to keep out what needed to be kept a secret and what not. His mother was in St. Mungos however, and last he had heard she was making no sign of recovery at all, being kept in the private ward.

It felt strange seeing eyes pointed at Harry, who was behind him. He didn't dare to turn his gaze to stare of course, the professor seemed pretty much on the way of explosion, and yet he couldn't help but try and believe this was just another normal day. It was strange how different from normal it was though.

The only thing missing would be…

"Mr. Scamander, why use the flat side of the blade for the roots and not the sharp side?" His godfather queried with a stern and monotonous drawl.

"Because the amount of juice obtained is higher that way, professor." Draco heard Harry's voice answer, hesitantly so, right back. It was normal. For once the voice was something normal that he could relate to. It was just like the old Harry. Not like the one who seemed incredibly taken out of the book on 'one hundred and one ways to self-discern if you're a dark lord'. Draco stiffened silently as Severus nodded…and said nothing more.

He did not hand out points for the correct answer. Soon the murmur of the change in treatment rang through the classroom. Everyone expected exactly the opposite from the professor: to make some snide remark on how, of course, only the Heir of Slytherin could enter another house and become a clearly future premier potion maker, or assign something like fifty points in a row.

The cold shoulder wasn't what Draco was expecting his godfather to do.

The fact he felt hotly about it however, that was far more shocking. Was he reverting into a fan boy, of all things? Definitively not.

*Tom Riddle*

How dared he? How dared the son of a filthy mudblood claim his own superiority on him!? He would have his revenge! He'd let him be lulled in a sense of complacency, and then he would strike him where it would hurt! He had to trudge carefully though. Albeit he did believe Grindelwald to be on his side, it wouldn't do to appear weak. Thankfully the agent within Hogwarts had moved his diary from the stupid red haired girl to another boy, before the girl could suspect anything.

He was kind of wondering how much the girl would enjoy it, to know she had been possessed into trying to open the chamber and writing with blood upon the ceiling of the hall.

Still…someone else was within the castle surely; someone who apparently held no qualms in using his name to kill and to give the fault where it did not lay. Whoever had killed that horrendous babbling first year of a Gryffindor had done the world a favor, but on the other hand it had displeased him.

Lord Voldemort did not tolerate displeasures. He'd make sure everything would go as planned. Everything.

*Hermione Granger*

She hadn't expected the Girl-Who-Lived brother to be the Heir of Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Of course, the tales spun about the 'evil brother' were rampant in Gryffindor, especially after what the boy had done last year had come into view. She was kind of surprised the Headmaster hadn't already called the boy into his office, but it didn't much matter to her.

She was currently trying to avoid that utter imbecile of a Weasley git from ruining her potion by adding things ahead of time. That alone required her full attention.

Carefully avoiding the stern glare of the professor, she slowly began to take notes on the color and the time to leave the potion to simmer, before frisking out from her school bag a small candy and popping it into her mouth.

She needed sugar to survive Hogwarts with that imbecilic horror of a Weasley next to her, and without the Girl-Who-Lived mitigating factor, she was starting to grow wary. Maybe she could try and curse him with something?

"So you'll go with me?" Ron asked in a low murmur, as if the professor hadn't the possibility to hear him as bright as the day.

"Mr. Weasley! Ten points from Gryffindor, no talking in class!" The red haired boy looked abashed, but his look went to her face nevertheless.

She hadn't even heard half of what the red haired boy had said, but still…she shook her head.

"Homework." She mouthed without letting out a single sound. Severus did not turn of course, because she knew how to whisper…and it clearly wasn't done the same way as the Weasley.

*Ron Weasley*

He clenched his fists as he looked down on the cauldron. How could Hermione not understand? It was pretty clear the murderer had to be someone within the forbidden forest. If only he could find someone else to go with, everything would be fine. It wasn't because he was a coward of course: it was just because he didn't like spiders. They had too many legs to be natural after all, and with their fur? They were the source of nightmare incarnate, all right, that was what those nasty creatures were!

His gaze lingered to the other in the class. Who could he ask? Seamus? Maybe the Nigerian exchange student? Maybe he should try with an upperclassman, or maybe even with someone from another house. Hell, if he was so keen on going there, he could outright ask Harry and his pet basilisk for help. He doubted the snake would be that difficult to aid in the quest of catching the real murderer now, would he?

Unless…unless this was all a ploy from the boy's part. If he had committed the murders, if he had actually sanctioned some murderer of sorts and let him loose into Hogwarts, then he could act as a hero for capturing him, and he going into the forest with the boy would spell his death. No. Harry was definitively out of the question. Just like his right and left hand men too. It didn't take a genius to see how the boy had practically surrounded himself with Neville, Hufflepuff who belonged to a highly prestigious old blood family, and Draco who was practically the antithesis of all the boy had spoken of at breakfast.

For all he knew, the blond haired boy already had the Dark Mark since the time of his birth! Death Eaters' spawns were like that after all.

So…he'd really have to go alone. He'd use the invisibility cloak he had taken in loan from Lillian, and with that everything would be fine. There was no way the murderer would see him coming, and then, once he'd drag the beast back in the castle, or the murderer, he would be rewarded and his mother would be proud of him.

He should have actually written home by then. Mom was frothing to know what had happened to share it with her neighbors and friends over the floo-network. Yet he didn't know how to broach the subject of Ginny being a Slytherin…he knew his mother would have a heart attack. He knew it.

Maybe, if he did get caught he could let it slip of Ginny's 'house' and get off lightly. That was an underhanded method actually, but in sibling rivalry it was an unspoken rule to use another's brother or sister's mistake to lower the fault of one's own.

He'd wait a bit though. No use running to face the murderer in the forest on that precise day.

He'd go, maybe, on Friday afternoon.

*Harry Scamander*

Potion class was uneventful. Well, barring the people staring at him like he was some sort of slab of meat or a murderous maniac on the loose. Herbology had him stare deadly in the eyes of a mandrake and see the slobbering wench of a plant stop crying. Rumors flew of his mystical eye powers few minutes later, but really…Neville had explained about the pressure point near the roots that made the damn things shut up.

He shouldn't be angry actually. He should feel excited, happy, or any other range of emotion that wasn't anger but…he felt angry. Angry at the sycophant mongrels who dared beseech h…He growled in frustration. Something, somewhere, had broken like a dam and something else had begun to pour with the howling strength of a werewolf stampede on a full moon clear night of a cold winter time.

If the archaic thoughts that lingered in his mind were of any indication, he had half a feeling it was just like a possession of sort. One that he was battling silently and with little effect, if the fact that he believed Madam Sprout to be an 'overly obsessive compulsive eater with schizophrenic tendency' had rooted into his mind few moments after staring at the plump woman that he knew was nothing of the sorts.

There was so much hatred flowing through his head at the moment that it was a wonder his wand wasn't already in his hand, ready to strike and kill the babbling masses that couldn't even properly grovel at his feet. Harry knew he'd have to kill the Bloody Baron eventually: the damn bastard had to be somewhat responsible for his corrupted thought patterns, but the rage was still slowly building up and he did not want to lash out in public.

Maybe he could go by the lake and tear down a couple of trees?

Maybe he'd do that.

*Severus Snape*

At first, he had thought about taking the kid apart, obliviate his knowledge of the chamber of secrets and then do nothing more. Then, of course, the brat had outright confessed in the morning Albus had called him to the 'public' and…and Severus had done his best of course, but it hadn't sufficed to repress the small tugged smirk on the side of his face. This didn't of course change the end year plan, but it did bring things into a new perspective.

Had the boy been a real Slytherin, he would have kept that knowledge of the chamber for himself. Already he knew ways in which Bellatrix could profit from it, and by consequence, the dark lord. There was no way a secret this big could be kept away, not even if Dumbledore suddenly managed to stop all owls from leaving the castle, and with the winter vacations approaching…it was but a matter of time.

Maybe he should try taking the boy sooner than the end of the year, but he hadn't even begun his lessons had he? He doubted he could just walk near him, ask him if he wanted to see something in the room of requirements, and then fling him through the only secret and safe passage that led to Hogsmeade that would not alert Albus.

Still, as he walked nervously through the halls to his second period lesson, he couldn't help but feel skittish. Something was definitively wrong with the boy. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but whatever it was, it made him uneasy.

He who lied without flinching to both Dumbledore and Voldemort was uneasy at looking in the eyes of the boy.

It didn't bode well actually…not a single bit.

*Bellatrix Scamander*

She slowly folded the well written letter of Severus. Her son was the heir of Salazar. She calmly paced towards the floo, but stopped her hand just as she was about to throw a pinch of powder in that could have taken her to see the Dark Lord. No, Severus had told her that Harry needed far more guidance than he had expected. That in order to keep his powers as Heir of Salazar he would need intensive training. A type of training that would require him to remain at Hogwarts during Christmas.

She didn't want to pass up on having a nice, warm Christmas dinner with her wonderful son. He had such nice bright eyes and he looked like some sort of wet chick most of the times that he was just…adorable. She was already thinking about, maybe, popping up at Hogwarts to hug him to death for such a delightful discovery. Her son was the Heir of Salazar! How wonderful was it, to belong to such a powerful wizard's line?

She knew the Dark Lord had trusted her with him because of that, even though he hadn't told her she just knew it had to be because of her status in the Death Eaters. She'd teach her son well, and the dark lord would be happy. Yes! Everything would be fine…maybe she could go and visit him? But…she didn't want to pamper him actually. Severus had said something about not being excessively present for a while, because her adorable young boy was working on building for himself a powerbase filled with purebloods!

Bellatrix was humming happily through the house, jumping from side to side like a schoolgirl playing one of those street games where you have to jump in squares while singing a merry song. Maybe she could send Harry a gift? But what would he like?

She began to frown. Christmas was nearing, and she knew her wonderful son would need a wonderful gift, but what could she offer? What indeed…

She clapped her hands suddenly while squealing in delight: of course!

She'd send him the most wonderful gift ever. The one the Dark Lord had asked her to keep! So he'd know she trusted him to do the right thing and protect it! She gingerly laughed to herself…and then…then she'd give him a surprise visit during Christmas.

And she'd punish him for not having written to her immediately.

She'd punish him until he would become a sobering mess of tears and pain on the floor, wretched and torn apart by his very own nerves.

And when that would be done…

She'd have a healthy, nice, private, homely, family Christmas dinner with him.

*Sirius Black*

"Is this really how we want to ask him? Hey, you know I was meant to be your godfather, now please tell me how we can access the Chamber of Secrets to make sure any Dark object is being properly disposed of?" Sirius raised an eyebrow as he said that, "Prongs, mate, I'm pretty sure that is not going to end well."

James Potter sighed, shaking his head slowly before replying. The two of them were heading within the castle, lunch hour already rolled by, and he had just realized the full implications of what it meant for a second year student to have access to the Chamber of Secrets of Salazar bloody Slytherin.

"Look: we don't know what might be in there. Well, we know of the Basilisk alright, and as much as I'm against having such a dangerous beast beneath the bloody school, it doesn't appear to have woken up, and you know the motto of the school."

"Never tickle a sleeping dragon." Sirius repeated rolling his eyes, "Which is what we are going to do. Let the boy breath James. I didn't see him at all during the first year, heck! He's even exonerated from flying lessons and hasn't been to a single Quidditch match. He's taken everything from your wife all right? You can't just barge in and order him to lead the way. Chances are he'd clam up and ignore you."

"I'm the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Sirius." James pointed out, "And if I managed to remove the bloody curse on the position, then I sure as hell can take care of a rowdy teen."

"I'm with you, James…but I've got a bad feeling about this." If only he knew just how much he had been right about it…

Maybe he could have avoided the confrontation.

*Heather Watson*

She hated the dingy and cold atmosphere of the closed off chamber. She rather enjoyed it when her master was around, because the warmth was something really wonderful to feel. Crawled within the closed off mouth of Salazar, she stared in the darkness at nothing much in particular. She didn't know why her master had given her some sort of hideous strange contraptions made of wool, but she knew better than to ask.

Slowly, she felt tremors echo through the chamber, footsteps coming her way. She began to tense, her tail slightly vibrating from happiness. It might be her master after all: he was the only one who could enter the chamber, couldn't he?

She saw the mouth of stone open, and a figure down, upon the rock bridge. The figure was pale, holding between his hands a…a rooster.

Heather tensed. It wasn't her master.

The strange creature spoke, but she couldn't hear him. She didn't need to.

She struck with the strength of her mass against the worthless maggot who had dared to bring a rooster in the chambers: her fangs gleaming with the poison that she knew could kill anything within seconds. The boy was torn apart within her maws and then, with a sickening gulp, of the diabolical murderer nothing more remained. The rooster itself had been squashed by her coils and as she hummed patiently…

Her stomach felt a bit queasy actually.

She grumbled as she slithered her way back into the mouth of Salazar. She needed to ask her master just why she had to wear those horrible purple things…

Couldn't he at least give her a slick green and brown color? Why did her earmuffs have to be purple!?

*Salazar Slytherin*

There was a crowd in front of the architect statue, by the time the lessons were over. He had expected a couple of students more than usual, but what he hadn't expected was a full-fledged crowd composed by the practically half of the students, with the other half in tow barely within ear.

He felt nervous as the eyes settled on him, was he actually going to do it? Well, it wasn't as if he could now come up and yell out loud 'I've changed my mind, no more Fuhrer-speech for you lot!' or similar.

Was this how Mussolini felt when Hitler forced him to return to Italy, and start the Salo Republic? It certainly felt like the force of the masses always had a strong pull on him, if the way his feet were gliding him in front of the architect statue was of any indication.

His stomach felt queasy, and cold sweat was pouring down his back. Just why had he thought he could do this? Too many eyes were present. Too many eyes were there watching and judging him. He…He was so lost in there that…

"Let…Me…Let me."

"Uh?" Harry thought, as his right hand shot forward practically on its own, obtaining the silence from the crowd as his legs brought him to climb upon the pedestal of the architect.

"The Architect of Hogwarts," he began, "built this school together with Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin, Helga Hufflepuff, and Godric Gryffindor." And the last only stared at the damn thing and grunted a 'good, where's the wine?' at the end of it. "He belonged to no house, since none had been founded at the present, and yet he built this school, to encompass them all. Believe not those who claim the divisions happened immediately. For years the school stood united, giving birth to great men who belonged not to Slytherin, Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, but to Hogwarts, for a school is made by its people, and its people make it a school…houses are…an abomination." He hissed.

"What!? No! Wai…"

"Mr. Scamander, I find it difficult to comprehend how you can spout such words with conviction. Competition between the houses is what has brought forth great persons, Merlin himself was sorted into Slytherin," McGonagall began, "And it was only due to his rivalry with Morgana of Ravenclaw that both…"

"Is that so?" The tone was amused, that much he…Harry? Knew, "Were you there, or did you read upon books written by victors? Was that truth or a merely falsely shaded lie? You should know that knowledge can be colored by multiple tints. 'Dark' and 'Light' are merely two of the possible shades. And isn't there competition even among classmates of a same house? Why then the need for a separation, no… a segregation, when you could just remove the houses? Why does Hogwarts have four towers, and yet half of the houses live in dungeons, away from the light of the day? You think it's normal? You think it's equal? Are you so blind, or were you fed such lies since the early age? Why is the Slytherin dungeon built beneath the lake? Does anyone of the present know!? I do! And I do because the architect written journals claim the dungeons as a prison for the criminals, a prison where, at the flick of a wand, the lake itself could drown them to their death!"

"Who are you?" Harry asked, but no reply came as his eyes stared into the masses of shocked and grim filled faces of the Slytherin.

"Mr. Scamander…Are you certain of your claims?" Professor Flitwick voice was filled with a bit of anguish and…anxiousness. The tiny professor was as much stricken as some of the Slytherin students, of whom a few held their hands to their throats in a clear sign of shock. Harry didn't expect them to feel anything else: how would anyone feel knowing they had been sleeping in a death trap for years?

"As certain as I am that the East tower used to be the real Hufflepuffs dorms, as sure as I am that you will find upon the walls of the North tower small signs that once Salazar Slytherin used to inhabit the highest of its rooms, oh, but you know the North tower with another name after all," he sneered, "The 'Dark' tower. You did turn it into a prison, removed all content from Salazar's chambers and sold it to the highest bidder of the goblin nations…did you not?" The question felt rhetorical, at least to…Harry. He chuckled, and his chuckle was raucous and deep.

"The peak of Hypocrisy at its finest, and yet here you stand asking me why I seek to change this school? I am but a student. Take note of this. I might be the Heir of Salazar or maybe Salazar himself reborn but know this: this school is rotten and I will change it!" He roared feeling filled with glee at the sight of the whimpering children taking a step back. "You are hereby called by me, not as Harry Scamander, or as Harry Dursley, or even as some might claim Harry Potter, but as mere and simple Harry, to make a stand. Here and now I ask of you to choose: will you pledge loyalty to a cause that will devour and destroy the foundations of magical Britain as it stands? Will you fight against the wrong and rotten ideals that society imposed on you since birth? Will you fight for equality of treatment, disregarding everything else? Will you fight side by side with others, regardless of house, blood, race, sex or background? If you do, if you really do, then know that I shall fight alongside you. Changes are not made alone by mortal man! They are made by a force that encompasses hundreds! Are you with me!? Are you ready to change Hogwarts, and then Britain!? Are you ready to bring justice into a world that has none? If you are…then follow. If you don't…then leave! I swear I will not harm those who merely seek to ignore life and walk in the sidelines; I swear I will not hurt those who will not take on a side. But know this: no-one can truly stay neutral. True neutrality does not exist!"

Harry breathed slowly, as ripples of sweat descended from his temples and his robes flailed around, whatever it was, he felt determined. He felt different. Just like that morning in the dining hall, just like that…he had just talked and the students were looking at him. They were looking at him. Some with eagerness befitting naivety and some with a glint of interest, a few were positively shocked and a couple more looked green with fright. Some were trembling and others were instead clenching their fists in firm resolve.

The oldest students began to trickle away, speaking slowly among themselves. That was a given, considering how nobody who was preparing for Owls or Newts had time to stay and play stupid fantasies like 'change the school' and 'change magical Britain'. Words that a twelve year old kid had no place to say after all…barely green behind the ears to begin with.

A couple of fifth years were actually debating it, but in the end the vast majority of them left, followed by the professors who appeared vastly appalled by such a display.

"Remember if you are to found a club, you will need a teacher to represent you." Were the only words the deputy headmistress sourly pointed out before turning around and leaving…probably to verify his claims on selling to goblins the stuff of Salazar.

In the end, most of the crowd had been there only to listen to the heir of Salazar speech, not to actually join him.

Those who remained, however, were more than enough to let Harry crack a smile.

It was a start.

It was a beginning for his rebirth.

Now if only he could find a way to keep his schizophrenic half from getting the best of him…He might be at the head of a kingdom who would live for but half a year…but it had taken him far less effort to actually destroy his sister's reputation at school, so with his actual effort…how much would it take?

Author's note

And we're on to the start of the King's men club. And another student died. Eaten.

This chapter was more of a 'post-reaction' thing then an actual plotted chapter, but we're not even done through all of it.

Btw: yes, the dark tower exists in canon, and thus it's not difficult to suspect also another tower…which actually makes you think why they had to have two houses up in the sky and two beneath the ground, and the Slytherin halfway beneath the lake? Really? Security issues anyone?

To Junky: The rooster sound was taken care of. Earmuffs. The ones normally used for Mandragoras, I admit Harry took the idea from there. Apparently it worked. Furthermore Bellatrix took the news pretty well, didn't she?

Yeah. Lots of love in that family.

Next chapter: we will see who's in the club and who isn't. Don't expect everything to sail smoothly of course…no, if you know me and my stories…don't expect anything to begin with. Trust me.

Or better yet don't.

Hope you enjoyed! See ya (now I'm jinxing myself) tomorrow with another update!