Howdy,

This is a story that has bounced around in my head for quite some time, as have some others still floating around. After reading so many stories, some of which had ideas or premises I really thought were neat or had potential, I am trying to motivate myself to really put the ideas that have bounced around in my head to paper. I have already attempted to write one story, as you can check, but I didn't really prepare myself properly to write it. Now, with the way my job works, I have a good amount of time each week where I am gonna try and force myself to get into it. There are several story ideas that I have mentally explored, and will try to put to paper in the future.

I encourage people to review the story, and point out any mistakes they notice grammatically, as I don't have a beta reader. You are allowed to write your own criticism, like "hey they part of X chapter was a little convoluted, and doesn't make much sense", and I will do my best to revise as I go along. I really couldn't care about bad reviews that go anything like "hurr durr trash story", I don't care. I really don't. A few reviews, people saying mean things, really doesn't bother me. Anyone that gets their jimmies rustled by people online, reviewing a story, are weak minded and thin skinned. Try and bear with me on my writing skills, as I will need to get into my personal flow for how the writing will work.

-Deaners

The works of Harry Potter are owned by J.K Rowling.

Harry found himself checking over his kit for the third time as he and the other contractors waited for the ICW representative to arrive with the portkey. He and the others had been hired to deal with a wizard by the name of Hector Drivas, who was supposedly descended from the ancient Dark Lord, Herpo the Foul. A parselmouth like his ancestor, Hector has become a wanted fugitive from the ICW after growing a basilisk and killing several wizards and the non-magical occupants of a small village.

Harry had read that the death toll had been estimated at 172 non-magicals, as well as 8 wizards. Hector presented a serious danger to breaching the Statute of Secrecy, as the deaths of 172 people without a mark on their bodies was rather hard to cover up.

Incidents like that had been rapidly increasing in the last four years; non-magical technology continued to advance at a rapid pace, and these advancements made it harder and harder for magical communities to hide. Almost every person has a camera in their pocket, security cameras are mounted on most buildings and streets, and instead of running away, the average person begins recording when anything out of the ordinary happens.

Harry knew that the International Confederation of Wizards were stretched extremely thin as it was, and every couple months a different wizard or witch claiming to be the newest Dark Lord would rear their ugly head. This led the ICW to Harry, as well as the other hired wands around him. They would take care of these problems for a price, and weren't constrained by the same politics that each country was governed by.

If you had asked Harry six years ago what he thought he would be doing after finishing Hogwarts, contracting and bounty hunting would have been nowhere on the list.

He had stumbled on to the profession almost by accident; he had been staying with the Delacour family in France, studying magic and working to regain control of his own magic again. Harry had been wandering the streets of Paris to get some food when he witnessed a group of four wizards stunning and transporting several muggles. He had thrown his invisibility cloak on and followed on foot, as they trekked through a maze of streets and alleys to what initially appeared as a small abandoned mansion.

He had slipped in behind them, following them to the basement, and watched as the four wizards began chaining the male muggles in cells along one wall. They hadn't been gentle about it; more than half were bleeding from minor cutting curses, a few seemed to be twitching from the aftereffects of the Cruiciatus, and one seemed to have a broken leg.

However, it was the moment he saw one of the wizards revive one of the females, a brunette girl that looked almost the same age as him, and begin tearing at her clothes that Harry acted.

A Bludgeoning curse leapt from his wand, the tip protruding out from the cloak, slamming into the would-be rapist's shoulder. As he was launched across the room, Harry waved his wand towards the two wizards closest to the chains on the walls, which turned into metallic snakes that began biting and constricting the two wizards. A quick Expulso launched the fourth into the stone wall behind him, the red light of a stunning spell striking him a moment before he came to a rest. Another two stunners, and the two wizards battling his transfigured snakes slumped to the floor, bites from the metallic fangs strewn across their face and arms.

Harry was forced to hastily summon a box, narrowly blocking a sickly orange curse that immediately began rotting. He quickly launched a standard spell chain he had taught in the DA; a tripping jinx, followed by a disarming charm and stunner.

Harry thought he had caught his opponent, until the violet arc of a cutting curse nearly took his head off. He began casting anything he could think of, banishing items at his enemy, throwing as many Stunning Spells as he could, all the while trying to dodge or shield the curses being fired at him.

He had avoided any major injuries, but was beginning to gather a collection of minor wounds that were causing him no small amount of pain. Shrapnel from the detonation of a Blasting Curse had stung his arm, the edge of a Cutting Curse had caught his calf, skin had been rubbed off where he had thrown himself away from the curses and landed on the ground. Yet he continued casting, never giving in.

A Bludgeoning charm he fired while rolling from the rotten yellow of what he remembered as a Blood-boiling curse managed to catch the wizard on his hip, tossing him across the room and slamming him on the injured shoulder.

"You son of a bitch" the man hissed, blood dripping from a busted lip, and rage glowing in his eyes." Avada Kedavra!"

Harry threw himself to the floor, as the emerald green light of the Killing Curse narrowly flew past his head, his eyes tracking it. He watched, almost as if in slow motion, as the curse struck the woman he had been trying to save right in the chest. Her mouth made a small "O" as she slumped to the side, eyes open in surprise from where she had been trying to hide behind a pillar.

Harry felt like his heart stopped, staring at the girl who couldn't be older than him, falling to the floor. His blood began to pound in his ears, red hot rage filling his veins. How dare he?! How could this piece of garbage do this to another person? This was like Voldemort all over again!

Harry turned towards the other wizard, a wordless snarl on his lips as he thrust his wand forward. His magic responded to his anger, as an incredibly bright blue light was spat from his wand, crossing the gap to the other wizard in an instant.

The blue light, whatever spell it was, pierced through the other wizard's chest and continued into the wall behind him, as his body was launched into the wall, slamming him hard enough for Harry to hear his bones break. The red haze on his mind began to fade as he stared at the six-inch hole where the dark wizard's heart used to be, shock quickly overcoming the wrath flowing through him.

This is where he was found ten minutes later, as French aurors burst into the room, followed closely behind by Fleur and her father Sebastien Delacour, who was the head of the French Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Fleur had quickly enveloped him in a hug, worry and stress causing her to revert back to her native rapid-fire French. The French aurors had quickly began sweeping through the room, breaking the chains on the trapped muggles, and beginning to levitate them up the staircase out of the cellar. Several of the other aurors attached handcuffs to the three still living wizards who were stunned, runes faintly glowing on the strands of the cuffs.

As the wizards hustled around him, a mixture of French and English echoing in his ears, his eyes never left the face of the woman hit by the Killing Curse. A curse aimed at him, meant for him, where she was just an unlucky bystander, all because these sick wizards kidnapped her and the other muggles.

She probably had a family that was waiting for her to come home, siblings, parents, maybe a boyfriend, all of which would never see her again. All because of some sick fuck of a wizard, and Harry himself.

He had been pathetic trying to fight the other wizards. While he had initially had a good surprise attack, things had quickly dissolved into chaos after the first volley of spells. Scrambling around on the ground dodging curses, frantically casting shields as he tried to catch the enemy wizard with a stunning spell. Harry knew that he was more powerful than the other wizards, much more powerful, evidenced by the fact that none of the fourth wizard's spells managed to break his shields, even his hastily cast ones. That had been the point of him staying in France; to gain control of his extremely out of control magic. Yet because he was trying to fight right and not harm his opponent badly, a woman was dead. Because of him, because he was trying to fight fair.

Harry was eventually helped from the room, barely noticing the uncomfortable feeling of a side-along apparition as he was transported to the familiar sight of a hospital wing. A medi-nurse began bustling around him, and he could feel the tight grip of Fleur holding his left hand, yet the empty eyes of the woman remained burned in his brain.

After that he had been escorted to an interview room, where he mechanically recited everything that happened from the first moment he saw the four wizards until the French aurors arrival. What they started doing, the spells he cast, even the way he killed that final wizard, yet he still felt the gaze of the murdered woman looking at him, judging him for his failure.

While Harry logically understood he had killed another wizard, he didn't feel guilty. He understood that he was most likely in shock, and would have to deal with what happened eventually, he couldn't shake the mental picture of that muggle woman from his brain. He could still see the way the green light struck her, eyes wide open in surprise, almost exactly the way Cedric Diggory had been killed back in his fourth year. Another person was killed because of him.

Harry knew that the line of thought wasn't very rational, and no matter how much he told himself that, it didn't stop the guilt from clawing at his heart. It remained even after he was taken back to the Delacour home, numbly stepping into the shower, the grime and sweat from the battle washing into the drain.

Eventually he had ended up on a couch in the living room, Fleur seated next to him, still holding one of his hands. Bill Weasley had returned from work at Gringotts sometime during when he was at the French DMLE's headquarters, and took a seat in a chair next to the couch. Harry had sat there for what felt like hours, blankly staring at the wall as he tried to force the image of the dead woman out of his head, before he eventually succumbed to slumber against the side of Fleur, who had began stroking his black hair.

When Harry had woken up in the morning, the guilt was still present. He was able to logically tell himself that what had happened was not his fault, but the fault of the evil wizards who kidnapped the muggles in the first place, yet it did nothing for the pain inside.

While Harry was no stranger to death, he had thought that all of that would be behind him with the death of Voldemort. He would be able to live out the rest of his life in peace, not having to deal with evil madmen and death.

It wasn't until he was pulled into Sebastien Delacour's office, two days after the events in the cellar, that he was shaken from his stupor.

"What do you mean by my reward?" Harry said slowly, not quite processing what he was told.

"Well the four wizards you found were wanted by the French DMLE." Sebastien stated, his blue eyes meeting Harry's green. "They were wanted for similar crimes to the one you stumbled on; at the moment we have records of four other instances where those four wizards kidnapped groups of muggles. Each time, the men were found tortured to death, while the women were raped before being killed."

"As a result of their actions, a bounty was placed on the heads of Jeremy Edwards, Francis Blanc, GĂ©rard Cloutier, and Timothy Walker for the crimes of murder, rape, and various other crimes by the French DMLE." Sebastien said neutrally, as he brought out a stack of papers. "Since you were the one responsible in their apprehension, you get the reward."

Harry continued staring at him, not quite believing what he had been told. A woman had died, because of him, and he was getting paid?

"William has informed me of your...difficulties with the goblins. I took the liberty of opening an account with the gnomes in Switzerland, and already deposited the gold."

Harry reached out and took the small golden key that was offered to him, his brain struggling to process what he had been told..

"What do you mean by bounty?" Harry slowly said, not quite following the abrupt change.

"When a wizard or witch, such as the four you fought, commit horrible enough crimes, and their identity can be positively linked to the crimes, it is not uncommon for the government to issue a bounty for their capture or death." Sebastien said, searching through the stack of parchment until he withdrew four sheets, placing them in front of Harry.

Harry looked at the four men he had encountered in the cellar. The fourth, Jeremy Edwards, the wizard Harry had killed, stared out at him from the picture, shackles adorning his wrists, a sneer pasted on his face as he sat in a cell. The writing below the picture detailed a long list of crimes; murder, rape of a witch, rape of a muggle, destruction of a Lord's property, the list went on for several lines, with a price tag of 1000 galleons stamped at the bottom of the page.

"That one was a real piece of work." Sebastien said, tapping his figure on the edge of the sheet. "He fled Britain after Voldemort fell the first time. He was a Death Eater in all but name, and when he came to France, it didn't take long for him to start his crimes again. My aurors have been searching for him for the last six years all over France."

Harry was rather stunned; he could be paid for hunting dark wizards? For removing the same type of people that Voldemort and his Death Eaters were, the type of people that caused so much misery and tore so many families apart?

"To hunt bounties…" Harry began, an idea forming in his mind. "What do you have to do? Do you need a license?"

Sebastien shifted uncomfortably, not liking where the conversation was going. "You would need to register an account with the ICW, where you could be contacted for possible contracts, along with an account for your rewards to be deposited. All of which I have done for you already to claim your reward."

Fleur would be very cross with him if he ended up pushing Harry further into danger; she was already incredibly fond of him, and Gabrielle was attached to him as well. Even his wife Apolline couldn't resist mothering the poor boy.

"Take some time to rest; I know your tutor already sent me a message that he will give you a couple days off to recover from what happened. The three men you captured are already awaiting transport to a prison."

"What about the man I killed?" Harry said, unable to prevent worry from creeping into his tone, picturing the hole his magic had blown through the man's chest.

"Jeremy Edwards? I promise you Harry, you are not in any trouble for his death. In fact, several of my colleagues would most likely shake your hand in thanks. While I am not condoning killing, sometimes evil men have to die to prevent further bloodshed."

Seeing guilt still remaining in Harry's eyes, Sebastien reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. "There is a quote my father told me when I first became an auror. 'There will always be death, my son, and you must not wallow in the guilt of killing, lest you become tolerant of the wicked. But you must also not revel in it, must not rejoice in the shedding of blood, or you will become wicked yourself.'"

Sebastien's father fought in the war against Grindelwald, and he had to take the lives of his opponents. Dark wizards, who fed on the fear and suffering they were inflicting under Grindelwald's reign, who delighted in cutting down innocent muggles, witches and wizards.

"I don't want to say that you will stop feeling guilt or sorrow for taking a life; the moment you stop feeling that when you are forced to kill, is when you must realize what you are becoming. I know some will tell you that you should avoid killing at any cost, but sometimes you have to take a life to save another."

"Like if I had used stronger spells against Edwards, perhaps the muggle woman may have been alive. If I wasn't there, he would have killed her and the other muggles." Harry said quietly, understanding the point Sebastien was trying to make.

It was something that he found he was agreeing with. He couldn't imagine how much different the war against Voldemort would have gone the first time if the "Light" wizards and witches had been casting more lethal spells. Malfoy, Avery, Nott, Carrow, all the wizards who got off claiming Imperius may have been killed. They would not have spent the next fifteen years spreading poison into the Ministry, using their gold and resources to keep the muggleborn and halfbloods down, stopping the passage of magical creature laws. All the poison which made Voldemort's takeover in his sixth and seventh years laughably easy.

"You should put it out of your mind for now Harry. Give it a few more days for your mind to settle. Come, I know Fleur wanted to take you to the beaches to try and "put some color in your pale skin". Sebastien said with a laugh, standing and placing the folder back on the table.

Harry nodded, he could use a distraction to take his mind off of the events of the past few days, as he followed Sebastien back into the living room, the chattering in French greeting his ears.

He shook himself from his thoughts, that night back in the alleyway in Paris seemed so long ago. He had a job to do, and that meant making sure all of his equipment was in working order.

His pants and shirt were made of thin dragonhide leather, with thicker patches sewn over the knees and elbows for when he ended taking a tumble. While not thick enough to stop moderate to strong spells, it was more than enough to protect from shrapnel and the wear and tear of battle, along with weaker jinxes and hexes.

Over those he was wearing a thick, dragonhide overcoat, with several pockets sewn onto the inside. This coat had served him faithfully for the last three years, saving him more times than he could count. While the dragonhide couldn't stop an Unforgivable curse, it was capable of blocking the average strength curse.

Under his coat, he had a belt with individual potion slots, contained in hard dragonhide pouches, with everything from healing potions, emergency Skele-gro, a brew he affectionately called "Fiendfyre in a bottle", to a two hour supply of Polyjuice. While he was still far from a Potions Master, his brewing had greatly improved under the tutelage of Andromeda Tonks, away from the sneering gaze of Severus Snape.

Mounted on a sheath attached to his left thigh he had a goblin forged knife, dipped in basilisk venom to counter all kinds of nasty magical beings, along with the odd cursed artifact. Strapped to the opposite thigh was a pistol, however it resembled a mixture of a flare gun and old-fashioned flintlock pistol from a pirate movie. A long barrel was connected to a break action chamber, with a trigger guard, and form fitted handgrip.

Now Harry only knew the basics about normal guns; pulling the trigger makes the powder in the round go off which launches the bullet. However, his gun, given to him as a reward from assisting the United States of America's Magical Warfare division, was anything but normal. Small runes were engraved on the inside and outside of the barrel, designed to reduce the heat generated from the magical rounds, and reduce the recoil to prevent him from shattering his wrist with each shot. Each individual shell case was packed with magical blasting powder, the bullet itself was formed from lead and engraved with featherweight runes so it could be launched further and faster. A single round cost roughly two hundred galleons to make, or in American dollars, $1,400 per shot.

Not that he was hurting for money; the rewards from various contracts and bounties, investments made in the muggle and magical world, and the odd harvested magical creature, Harry had enough wealth a hundred times over.

From what he was told by the American magical gunsmith Samuel Browning, who is a halfblood descendant of Jonathon Browning, the famous gunsmith, due to the amount of small moving parts in a standard firearm, a wizard can't simply apply a bunch of charms to a standard firearm. Space expansion charms tend not to agree with moving parts such as a magazine with a spring inside, standard featherweight charms don't really matter for normal pistols or rifles, and the average gunshot does not contain enough kinetic energy to break through a standard magical shield. This led to the gun he owns now, which relies on single shots with overwhelming physical and kinetic energy.

While the metal the bullet is formed from is a poor conductor of magical energy, it doesn't need to hold the magic for hours or days; only long enough to hit the target. The end result being a bullet capable of punching through average to strong magical shields, or weaker ward walls.

Harry knew America's government was supposedly working on a rifle variant, rumored to hold several shots and be even stronger, he knew they wouldn't trust him with one after the fiasco with that Jersey Devil.

A wand holster attached to his left forearm contained the Elder Wand; after rumors had broken out over Voldemort being so powerful because he had the wand (which he had), Harry retrieved it from Dumbledore's tomb. It would only take one person to recognize it as the same wand that Dumbledore had been using for the last fifty or so years and raid his tomb.

Harry personally wasn't the biggest fan of the wand, fully understanding the bloody history behind it, but he recognized its power. No other wand he had ever seen showed as much power in casting curses malicious magics. He still didn't truly believe it to be "created by Death", but he couldn't deny its power.

Attached to a hidden holster above his right foot was his third backup wand. Eleven inches, made of blackthorn and dragon heartstring. He was told it was a wand for a warrior, and it had served him well in the few situations where he had been forced to use it.

Finally, in a holster on his right arm, was his new primary wand. After the Killing Curse from Voldemort struck him in the Forest of Death, removing the soul fragment from his scar, his magic had fundamentally changed, and his connection with the wand didn't seem to be the same as it was. The wand had pulled him through many struggles and battles, and would always have a special meaning to him. His holly wand no longer was a perfect match despite repairing it with the Elder wand, and it had taken a trip to the newly reconstructed Ollivander's shop. Using the remains of his holly and phoenix feather wand, Garick Ollivander had him "push" his magic into dozens of different types of wood, and choose which one he felt the best reaction from. He had then performed the same procedure with a variety of wand cores, some of which he had never even heard of.

After settling on a wood of ash, and a core of an especially bright unicorn tail hair, Ollivander had retreated into his back room, leaving Harry to wait. Only emerging close to six hours later, Ollivander had presented him with his new wand.

Slightly longer than it had originally been at an even twelve inches, the original holly wood formed the handle, transitioning into the ash. Ollivander had explained that the ash wood was an extremely possessive wood that would only remain true to its owner, especially when accompanied by a unicorn hair. He had said that Harry's bond with his holly and phoenix wand, both picky and rare materials, were complimented by the new materials, and said he did not think the wand would work for any other person, even if it was won from him.

The moment Harry had grasped the wand, it was like a piece of him slipped back into place that he didn't know was missing. He could feel the magic flowing through him, and his spells leapt from the wand at the slightest thought with unrestrained eagerness.

Ever since the battle, his magic had felt tumultuous and forced every time he cast a spell, like a roaring river that could only flow in great amounts. Now, rather than an uncontrolled flood, it felt like he could wield it however needed; whether it was a trickle or tsunami of magic.

Satisfied with the current state of his equipment, Harry once more glanced around. A motley collection of wizards and witches were strewn around, some he recognized, some were strangers. In orderly squads off to the side were the aurors of the Greek Ministry of Magic, along with the squads of hit-wizards of the ICW, quietly talking among themselves.

Finally, a group of wizards wearing the black and silver of the ICW arrived. The lead wizard, a black wizard who Harry recognized as Dumbledore's successor as Supreme Mugwump Babajide Akingbade, stepped up to the small stage.

"We all know why we are here. You all have been briefed on who you are about to face. " Akingbade stated, his dark eyes scanning across the crowd. "You all know what is at stake here. Hector Drivas, and the remaining wizards still following him, are inside the castle used to belong to Herpo the Foul on the island of Kinaros. From what we have been told, he is planning some sort of ritual. It is imperative he must be stopped."

Harry nodded in agreement, even if it was all things he already knew. He greatly respected Babajide Akingbade, an African wizard who was no stranger to combat or discrimination. A black wizard, who grew up in the racially divided South Africa, suffering under apartheid. While Britain had its struggles with blood purists, discrimination comes in different forms wherever you go. Babajide Akingbade had fought through the system, eventually becoming deputy Minister of Magic in South Africa, and assisted Nelson Mandela on the magical side of the country in removing apartheid. He had been nominated as the country's representative to the ICW before succeeding Dumbledore's position. He quickly build a reputation as being unforgiving on discrimination and crime, and was fighting a constant battle of reform for the magical world to try and keep up with the nonmagical side.

Harry took the portkey given to him by one of the ICW wizards, a simple black wristband, enchanted for a use to an island next to Kinaros, and for an emergency use back.

His pulse began to slightly speed up, his magic becoming excited as the prospect of battle began looming ahead. Even after four years of fighting dark wizards, exploring tombs, battling magical creatures, the excitement had never dulled.

"If everyone is ready." Babajide Akingbade said. "Let's get to work. Follow the plan, and cover each other."

One whispered word later, and the groups of wizards and witches began disappearing, whisked away by Portkey to fight a madman. Harry took a deep breath, made sure he had a tight grip on his wand, and activated the Portkey.

Harry crept along the darkened corridor, a plethora of various concealing charms layered on him under his trusty invisibility cloak. Disillusioning, scent removing, modified muffling runes woven into the edges of his pants to silence footsteps, and the woven into his overcoat; magic containment runes. Designed for him to be completely silent, almost invisible, scentless, and unable to be detected by magically sensitive scans, it was the work of himself, various magical research agencies, and paid runesmiths, it provided a moment of quiet in a frantic past hour.

Once they had activated their Portkeys, the witches and wizards had been teleported to a neighboring island. There they were forced to use magically modified boats, as wards had been raised around the island preventing brooms, magic carpets, apparition, and Portkey.

They had landed on the island with surprising little resistance. The real trouble had started once they reached within a kilometer of the castle. Animated golems had risen from the terrain, magical landmines detonated at a careless step, spellfire arcing down from an elevated position.

Things had quickly dissolved into chaos, and while the magicals were all highly trained, it had quickly killed the momentum they were building up. It became a slog through a hail of magic projectiles, animated beings, and magical traps.

Harry had done what he could, casting wide shields, his magic blazing in full force. A sweep of his wand transfigured an army of stone soldiers, the next launching high arcing mortars of magic that detonated against the wards of the castle, causing magic to flicker across their surface.

His wand moving like a scythe, every movement casting curses and spells, transfiguring animals and soldiers, banishing projectiles, launching siege magic, Harry never stopped moving forward.

This had continued on for almost twenty minutes with little respite, until Harry and the squads of ICW wizards that stuck by him reached a dip in the ground that provided cover from the spellfire of the castle's defenders.

"At this rate, by the time we reach the castle, we won't have any men left." Harry had told the wizards as he caught his breath. And this was a fact; when a wizard or witch was severely injured, they activated their return Portkey. Some were not so lucky, either killed instantly or knocked unconscious in a dangerous battlefield. Their numbers were being slowly whittled down.

"You all need to bunker down here, and gather as many as the squads as you can. I will infiltrate the castle and remove the defenders so you can get close, "He said firmly. The level of resistance and preparedness of their enemy had been far greater than they expected.

The wizards of the ICW knew better than to argue with the chaos going on around them. Harry may have gained a celebrity status from what happened as a baby in Britain, but his reputation among the ICW had been earned through results. While he was not employed by them, he had undergone numerous operations and fulfilled many contracts for the ICW, and worked with their squads many times.

"Wait for my signal, you'll know it when you see it. Until then, rest as best you can and prepare to push." Harry said, climbing to his feet. He had begun jogging along the ridgeline to where it reached the few still standing trees. Making sure all of his equipment was still on his belt, Harry took a deep breath before willing himself to change.

Not even a second later, a peregrine falcon flew up from the cover of the trees. With blue and grey feathers on top, a black feathered head and white underside, the only defining features were the green eyes set above the peak.

Shortly after he started learning new magic, Harry had set his mind on becoming an animagus, partially in tribute to his father and Sirius, partially because of the usefulness. When he discovered his form was that of the peregrine falcon, he laughed for joy. He would be able to fly whenever he wanted as the fastest member of the animal kingdom. Not only were they the fastest, they were also extremely common. Everywhere he went, people pointed and stared, his name known across much of the magical world. Now, he could be an animal found almost anywhere in the world.

He had flown to the rear of the castle, entering through a window on the ground floor. From there he had changed back, applying a plethora of stealth spells. Harry began creeping along the empty corridors, feeling out with his magic for the wardstone of the castle.

Wards for a structure were usually anchored to a wardstone; a rune covered piece of stone designed to absorb energy from nature and be a power source for wards. While a wizard could lay down wards without a wardstone, they were typically short-lasting, and could be easily overwhelmed by stronger wizards. Wardstones were used to create a power bank that the wards could draw from, where wizards would have to bombard the wards and drain the "battery" before they fell.

Feeling a strong source of magic below him, along with several magical signatures, Harry followed the stone walls until he reached a descending staircase. Careful not to expose himself out from the cloak, even with all the spells applied, he made his way to a large chamber.

Dimly lit by magical lanterns, magic hanging thick in the air, Harry could see several cloaked wizards standing in a circle around an altar. Underneath the altar, he could make out the cut stone of the wardstone, placed centrally under the castle.

In the far corner of the room, he could see a giant, presumably a basilisk given Drivas' claims to be descended from Herpo the Foul, creator of the basilisk. While nowhere near as large as the one he faced in his second year, this one seemed to be around twenty feet long.

Standing in front of the altar, Harry could see the Dark Lord they came to defeat. A rather unassuming looking man if it wasn't for the malicious smile adorning his face, Harry watched as Drivas began waving his wand, chanting in the familiar style of ritual magic even if he could not understand the words he spoke.

Whatever ritual they were performing, he couldn't allow it to finish. Magic rituals were inherently dangerous, as much more magic was gathered to be used then any spell could produce. Rituals could do anything from create a new body, as evidenced in his fourth year, to creating a magical bomb large enough to wipe out an entire village.

His resolve set, Harry burst into action, magic slinging from his wand. His first spell launched a bright orb of light, which exploded a second later to blind everyone whose attention it caught. Already turning his gaze away before the detonation, Harry pushed his magic into the stone beneath the basilisk, turning it into a soupy mess which the basilisk began to sink. The next spell struck the walls around it, forming giant arms which began pushing the basilisk further into the muck.

Harry danced along the edge of the room, spells flung from his wand as fast as he could consciously will it. Debris from the floor was turned into razor sharp knives that were banished at the wizards in the center of the room, great gouts of fire lanced across the room from his wand, leaving burning trails wherever they struck.

Torrents of water were pulled from the air to splash against his opponents, before freezing them in place only to be struck by Bludgeoning curses to shatter them. Makeshift walls pulled up from the floor to block spells, stone wolves rising from the rubble of the broken walls to charge the dark robed wizards, only to be blasted apart by curses.

To stop casting was to be overwhelmed, to stop moving was to die. The Elder wand slipped into his left hand, flinging bolts of magic, more akin to artillery, at his foes, while his holly and ash wand pulled at the environment around him.

In the space of a few seconds, the entire chamber had been turned into a disaster zone. Molten stone dripped from the walls, sizzling as it met the frozen sculptures of the wizards caught by his flood of water, animated creatures attacked each other, chipping stone teeth and wooden bodies as they fought for dominance.

Chunks of the walls were blasted apart, wooden crates rotted as they were used to block curses, deep grooves cut into the floor where cutting curses mixed their mark. In the corner, the basilisk thrashed in its confines, its head and the surrounding portion stuck in the transfigured muck while its tail swung wildly, knocking away anything that came close.

Harry's attack had caught them by surprise, and he had managed to fell a number of Drivas' followers before a single curse was sent his way. During the course of the battle, not a single curse had managed to strike the Dark Lord, who had never stopped his chanting, even as his eyes glared hatefully at Harry, a glowing shield of magic appearing in place around him.

Harry never lost focus, his right hand moving in a complex pattern, even as his left hand continued to spit curses at the shields of his opponents. Giving a final thrust with his holly and ash wand, Harry pushed as much magic as he could into the creation taking form beneath the chamber.

Stone jaws erupted from the floor, giant claws reaching out from torn ground, as the front half of the floor burst open to reveal a dragon made of stone and earth clawing its way into the chamber. From between its front paws Harry continued to throw curses, no longer following any type of established spell chain.

Every slash of the Elder wand launched an arc of violet light that left jagged lacerations in the stone it struck, every jab launched a bright blue bolt of magic that pierced through whatever shield placed in front. When he waved his holly and ash wand, packs of wolves formed from the ruined stone around him, and each jab caused stone spikes to stab out from the floor.

All the while his transfigured dragon swatted at the wizards still standing, each swing of its paw shattering shields as hundreds of pounds of stone was launched into them, crushing each target.

Focusing his attention on the wizard still chanting in the middle, Harry poured as much magic as he could into each wave of his wand. Bright jets, of every color of the rainbow, slammed into a shield around Drivas, sounding like gong with each impact. Stones were banished at the shield, only to turn into dust on impact. Fire splashed harmlessly off the shield, ice breaking on impact.

Finally, after almost two minutes of nonstop spell casting, Harry came to a stop, as his transfigured dragon pounced onto the basilisk still trapped in the corner, its stone claws puncturing its hide as the dragon collapsed on the still exposed portion of its body.

His steady gaze met the eyes of Hector Drivas', who had not ceased his chanting throughout the entire battle. His followers lay either dead or unconscious around him, fire and ice warring against each other across the room, as stone wolves stalked the glowing shield around him.

"You're too late Potter." He hissed out, spittle flying from his lips as his chant finally ended. "I can't be stopped. This world will be remade, and a new age will be ushered in. I will be a god!"

Harry's mind raced as he stared at the glowing shield around Drivas, knowing he was running out of time. The shield was most likely linked to the wardstone by his feet, pulling magic from the world around them to power the shield.

His mind made up, Harry holstered the wand in his right hand, keeping the Elder wand out, he would need its power. His right hand pulled the pistol from its holster on his right thigh, while his left began tracing patterns in the air.

"Fiendfyre!"

An inferno burst forth from the tip of his wand, hungering beasts made of flame rose from the waves of fire. Blazing chimeras stalked out and pounced on the glowing shield around Drivas, hellhounds formed of hellfire charged forward, as a basilisk of his own formed in place around Harry.

He could see the strain growing on his foe's face as the fiery constructs warred against his shield. The dangerous thing about fiendfyre was that, despite being a magical spell, it did not run out of magic, rather it fed on it. The majority of people that cast fiendfyre ended up being consumed by it, as the flames devoured the magic and turned on the caster, who did not have a strong enough will to maintain control.

The burning basilisk continued to coil around Harry, growing larger and larger with sparks dancing from its scales, fangs made of fire bared at the wizard at the altar.

With a shout, Harry slashed the Elder wand down, the basilisk lunging down at the wizard in front of him. With his right hand, Harry took aim at the wardstone in front of Hector Drivas, his finger tightening on the trigger.

"No!" Drivas yelled out, the shield glowing under the hungry inferno around him, eyes wide in desperation as he finally moved from his spot.

Just as Harry pulled the trigger, as the burning basilisk crashed down on the man in front of him, his eyes caught a glint of gold from the front of Drivas. A narrow metal chain, a pendant with a small hourglass containing a golden dust hanging from it. Was that a time turner?

The magical pistol fired with a loud bang, a giant concentrated bolt of magic bursting forth. The glowing jet punctured straight through the shield in front of him, shattering the shield with the sound of a breaking glass.

The bullet struck the center of the wardstone, instantly erupting in an explosion of magic far greater than he had ever felt before. Drivas was instantly incinerated, the glowing amulet of the time turner hanging in the air for an instant before it cracked, golden dust spreading throughout the air.

Harry was launched into the wall, knocking the wind out of him. He looked up as a hole appeared in the air in front of him. There was truly no other way to describe it; it is as if the very air itself was torn apart into a void of nothingness, the glowing dust from the time turner hanging in the hair.

He only had a moment to ponder what just happened before the noise struck him, like a thousand pieces of cloth were torn apart at the same time. He had no more time to think, as he felt himself pulled straight into the hole in reality, curling himself into a ball, as he whispered an apology to the people he cared about.

When the rest of the ICW task force entered the castle after the wards fell, in a great explosion of magic and noise, they found a chamber littered with spell impacts, magic hanging thick in the air and bodies scattered around the floor, some alive, some dead. Yet Harry was nowhere to be found.