Disclaimer: Nothing is mine; everything is J K Rowling's.

I was tempted to make a second fic for the 'sequel', but then I realised it would make a mess of the titles and I'd have to spend ages thinking of something vaguely clever and relevant to name each one. Which is probably not worth it. So I'm just going to continue straight on, if you hate this decision, or have any brilliant ideas on structuring, feel free to review and tell me.

The first part of the OotP arc begins here.

Chapter 37

'Doesn't your school start today,' Vernon grumbled as Harry made his way downstairs.

'Yes,' Harry answered distantly, stealing Dudley's bacon off his plate in passing. The boy gave a squeal of outrage and looked pleadingly at his parents. They did nothing. The elder Dursley's had learnt their lesson very quickly.

Dudley was a bit slower, and would probably never realise that size wasn't everything, but Harry enjoyed tormenting him. It felt quite justified.

'That's very good bacon,' he congratulated his aunt. She pursed her lips in displeasure at his behaviour, but Aunt Petunia had been oddly uncaring of his use of magic around the house. Harry had even caught her watching him with soft eyes on occasion, just as she was now.

Perhaps I remind her of her sister more now.

Harry didn't particularly care. The Dursley's had missed their chance to earn a spot in Harry's heart or life a long time ago.

'Why are you still here then?' Dudley demanded, still upset over the loss of his bacon. It was the only remaining part of his old breakfast, and Harry knew he saved it to the end to take away the taste of the grapefruit.

'The train leaves London at eleven, it's already nearly ten.' Aunt Petunia noted very quietly.

Harry raised an eyebrow and she turned away, unwilling to explain just how she knew the time at which the train departed.

'You remember how I can apparate at will,' Harry explained to Dudley. He'd found that once he changed the way he described magic to make it seem like some kind of super-power, or an ability from one of his games, that Dudley suddenly became a surprisingly attentive audience.

Dudley nodded with a wary glance at his father, who was listening just as attentively while staring very hard at the paper.

'I can do that to get to school, the other students can't, so I don't need to get the train like them.'

'Oh,' Dudley responded, 'that makes sense.' His face was stretched into the that's-kind-of-cool expression he normally reserved for Harry's special explanations, or the TV.

He let him keep his last piece of bacon for that. It might help his cousin learn.

A reward for positive behaviour.

'So when are you leaving?' Vernon demanded, his brows crumpling suspiciously over his small eyes.

'Now,' Harry grinned, and vanished with a loud crack that made Uncle Vernon yelp. He was fairly sure he'd made Dudley drop his piece of bacon too. He smirked to himself as he listened to the sounds of argument coming from the kitchen below.

'This can't continue, Petunia,' Vernon's voice drifted up, 'he just does whatever he wants.'

'What do you think we're going to be able to do?' His aunt's reply was slightly impatient and terse. They'd had this conversation several times in the last week alone when they thought he couldn't hear. 'When I was nineteen, Lily and I came back to our parents' house to help them rearrange their garden. Our mother decided she didn't want the shed, it was empty, and nobody had the key to open it. Lily burnt the whole thing into ashes in seconds without saying a word as if it was ordinary and James,' it was the first time he had ever heard either of them say his father's name, 'he was far worse, doing things like that every time he turned around.'

There was another strangled whimper from Uncle Vernon.

'He'll leave like Lily did in a few years and then it will just be us and our son, how we always dreamed it would be.' Harry smiled slightly morbidly. Aunt Petunia might be more right than she realised, Voldemort might decide to make sure he left in the exact same fashion as his mother did.

Harry lifted up the cage he had bought for Hedwig. It was something his relatives would never touch, even if they did suddenly discover the audacity to come into his room without knocking first.

'Argent.'

He wasn't going to Hogwarts until just before the evening and the welcoming feast, which meant at least some of the day could be spent in France, with Fleur.

It was a lot brighter under the willow in France than it was in Britain. The sun lanced down through the gaps in the dome of willow branches, glimmering back of the water and the smooth, round, white pebbles of the shore.

He took a moment to breathe it in: the sound of the water, the rustling of the willow leaves, the warmth scattered in bright bars of light across his back, the smell of grass, hot stone and her.

Fleur was sitting on their branch, her legs and bare feet dangling down to kick gently over his shoulder. She'd tried to set up their portkeys so they'd arrive on the branch, but after Harry had missed it the first few times and ended up bruised and wet from falling into the river he'd persuaded her that it wasn't really necessary.

'Coming up?' Fleur asked, looking down at him from underneath her veil of hair.

Harry grinned at her and apparated up onto the branch. He had no other choice; it wasn't reachable from the ground.

'I still can't believe you're able to apparate at fifteen,' Fleur said enviously, 'even if it is illegally.'

'You're just upset I can get up here too,' Harry quipped, slipping an arm around her shoulders, and letting Fleur lean into his side.

'I'm very glad you can join me up here,' she murmured into his neck.

They watched the ripples of the river and the slim shadows of fish darting underneath. This tree and it's spread of branches was part of the surroundings of Fleur's family home, but to Harry it was their place. A spot so far from Riddle, the Ministry of Magic, and his problems that he might as well have stepped into another world.

'I'm going to have to tell my parents about us soon,' she warned him, 'I never spent half so much time here before, they're suspicious.'

'I don't mind,' he told her. They would have to know eventually, he'd have to meet them. He and Fleur had been whatever this was for the whole summer now.

'Gabrielle has already guessed,' Fleur laughed quietly. 'She spends her time trying to work out how this happened. She wants to know the story.' Neither of them had ever used the words boyfriend or girlfriend. They seemed too childish, too immature, to describe what they meant to each other.

'When do you plan on telling them?' Harry asked. 'I should make sure I can come here to meet them.'

'I don't have a date,' Fleur admitted, 'whenever feels right, or,' she smiled into his shoulder, 'whenever Gabby finally figures out where I keep disappearing off to and tracks us down. I think she considers us her own personal romance story.'

'I shall have to give her my memories of the Room of Requirement,' Harry remarked absentmindedly.

'You are not showing her our first kiss,' Fleur ordered, straightening up and flicking her hair back over her shoulder. 'That moment is ours.'

'I meant the other memories,' Harry placated, he'd no intention of sharing something that would be so embarrassing to watch. It was bad enough that he had thought he'd been under her allure, Fleur had never let him forget that, she seemed to take great pride in it.

'That's the only time we were ever in there together,' Fleur responded, puzzled, but curious.

I never told her, did I?

Now that he'd brought it up without thinking he remembered why. It was almost as mortifying as showing Fleur's little sister their first kiss would be.

'It's not important,' he smiled, knowing that Fleur would not let it go.

'No,' she smirked, enjoying his embarrassment, 'you have to tell me now.'

'No I don't,' Harry countered, already aware of what would happen next. Fleur would make him look at her and then she'd do something that made it impossible for Harry not to give her what she wanted.

A pair of cool fingers turned his face to hers, leaving him to gaze helplessly into her summer sky eyes.

If I didn't know better I would think it was her allure.

Harry knew that it was impossible for her to charm him like that now, he'd made her test him several times, just to see if he was affected at all as his occlumency improved over the summer. There was an impulse, a slight desire to impress her, but it faded the moment he began to clear his mind, something he had now advanced well beyond.

The fact that he couldn't seem to refuse her anything was entirely inexplicable.

'Fine.' He crumbled quickly, just Fleur knew he would. She kissed him gently to make him feel better about giving in to her again. 'When we weren't speaking,' Fleur shifted uncomfortably on the branch next to him, 'I would go back to the room to use it to help me, but since it tries to give you want…' He left it hanging, unwilling to explain any further if he had to. Not even his occlumency exercises were enough to stop the flush rising onto his cheeks.

'The pictures,' Fleur somehow remembered. She chuckled softly at his obvious shock. 'I nearly saw those twice,' she told him, 'you all but ran from the room before it changed back.'

Harry squirmed under her amused stare, cheeks burning.

'Gabby would love to see that,' she smiled, 'she'd find it quite romantic.'

'It's embarrassing,' Harry muttered, 'I could barely use the room.'

Fleur's hand slid up his cheek bone into his hair, pulling him across so she could kiss him.

'I like the idea of you moping about me in a room full of my pictures,' she laughed. 'Will you do it again this year?'

'If I can't visit you often, probably,' Harry confessed, kissing her back.

Of course Fleur liked the idea. She had a proud streak as wide as the willow tree, she'd love that she had had such an affect on him.

'Have you told anyone about me?' she asked, looking up at him demurely.

'Sort of,' Harry smiled. 'I don't have any living magical relations, but I mentioned you to my friends.' Salazar already knew, he didn't have any secrets from the painting of his ancestor.

'Katie Bell,' Fleur growled more than a little possessively.

'Not a threat,' Harry grinned, 'she knows you'd come and scorch her if she tried anything, but she doesn't want to. It's all in the past, like our spring of discontent.'

Fleur scowled at him, but she was only playing. He'd told her the second time they'd met here, that he and Katie were just friends and would never be anything more. Her concern about it had been touching, even sweet, but only until she'd threatened to immolate Katie if she ever had tried anything.

'Neville Longbottom too?'

'Yes,' Harry nodded, 'they both knew, Neville saw the room and Katie just refused to accept that she was wrong when I told her that there was nothing between us.' Fleur scrunched her nose up at the reminder of how they'd danced around each other. Harry knew she regretted not speaking to him, she'd said as much, sitting up here and telling him that there were daffodils in Spring and that she should have shown him. He'd told her that she could show him next year, and all the ones after that.

'I can't stay here all day,' Fleur said sadly, running her fingers along the rough bark of the bough. 'I am not able to apparate to Beauxbatons, because of the wards. I still want to know why you think you can apparate into Hogwarts, especially after you bounced off the wards last time you tried.'

'It's a secret,' Harry announced proudly. Maybe one day he'd tell her, but not until he was sure it could never be used against either of them. He looked down when Fleur didn't respond like she normally did. 'You have go now, don't you?'

'We've been here for longer than you think,' she smiled, pointing at the sun through the branches of the tree. It had risen over and passed the tree in the time they'd spent there.

'How will I know when I can meet you?' Harry asked.

'I'll enchant something to let us stay in contact,' Fleur decided, 'we'll use that.'

'I'll send you a letter when it breaks,' Harry jibed.

'It will not break,' she declared, jumping off the branch to land lightly on her feet. 'I will owl it to you, with a suitable phrase to use it, of course.'

Fleur's suitable phrases often turned out to be jokes at his expense in french, so Harry had developed a habit of translating them with an old dictionary he'd found before saying them. She hadn't taught him enough French for him to catch them on his own yet. In fact that was probably why she hadn't.

Harry apparated down behind her with a soft snapping sound.

'Still not silent,' she teased.

'It will be eventually,' Harry defended, 'you have an advantage with your special magic, I have to work harder for it.'

Fleur huffed, sparks dancing across her fingers. 'You are envious,' she decided, 'and your magic is not normal either, is it, you have a very unusual wand.'

'True,' he conceded, 'but I still don't have, how did you describe it, soft magic.'

'It would not make sense to you,' she told him, slightly serious, 'you are not veela, you can't feel it. Gabrielle can feel everything about a piece of magic if it is strong enough, but I can still feel enough to identify whose it is if I know them well enough.'

'Oh,' that caught Harry's interest, she had not mentioned it before.

'The maze was blanketed in your magic,' she told him by way of explanation, 'I knew it was yours, Gabby told me it was roiling, hot and angry. She said it was like boiling water, but hungry,' Fleur laughed throatily at his scowl. Gabrielle made his magic sound like a cup of tea.

'Well I was all of those, except hungry,' Harry responded.

'I'd love to know what spell you used to give off such an aura,' Fleur eyed him speculatively, 'but I don't think you'll tell me.'

'It's a secret,' Harry repeated, worried, but still sounding playful.

'You're just afraid I'll do it better,' she decided.

'It's a fire spell,' he told her, 'I know you'll be better at it, not that you need it,' he grinned, nodding at the sparks she was still absentmindedly conjuring over her finger tips.

'True,' she echoed back at him.

Fleur's face fell.

'I have to go now, Harry,' her toes curled reluctantly into the ground, 'but I'll enchant something and send it to you as soon as I can so we can come back here.'

'I could spend forever with you here,' Harry told her, more than slightly sad. He planned to, one day. Harry had spent all summer making plans and thinking things through, just to try and make sure he came back here in the end.

'I know.' She kissed him again, for longer than usual, pressing herself against him to remember how he felt, just as he pulled her into him, then she gave him one last smile and flickered away without a sound.

Just to rub it in.

Harry took one last look around at the tiny world he wished he never had to leave, then with a soft snap the world spun, and he stepped into Slytherin's study.

'You're back,' the portrait noted, as Harry checked himself over.

'All of me,' Harry decided, not finding anything missing. He hadn't splinched himself since apparating to Diagon Alley last year, but it paid to be careful.

'What are you planning on learning today?' Everything was planned now, even when they fell apart there were more plans underneath. Five words had become five thousand and it had become second nature to perceive the world around him as the rippling actions of others. Harry had come to realise that it was easier to create the ripples than weather them unaware. Salazar had dubbed it his true character, proud of his heirs eventual adoption of his mindset, and attributing the brainless Godricness to Dumbledore's influence.

'There's not too long before the welcoming feast,' Harry informed him, 'so nothing complicated.'

'The welcoming feast,' Salazar mused, 'already, but you're not even halfway through what you wanted to learn over the summer.'

'Well-'

'You told me that you expected to have finished all the OWL level work in the subjects you feel behind in last year by now.'

'I'm ahead of where I wanted to be with my study of Occlumency, I caught up from last year, and I'm already well past OWL level in some subjects,' Harry countered. 'And you should know what day and time it is, I bought a clock for you, it was the first thing I did.'

'It broke,' Salazar told him matter of factly.

Of course, Harry remembered. The magic here would interfere with the electricity.

'My point still stands,' Harry continued, mentally planning the purchase of a more antique time-keeping device.

'It's a good point,' Slytherin said acidly. 'You excelled in an area that we have always been exceptional at, and forgot about everything else.'

'It was the most important area,' Harry reminded him.

'Of course,' the painting continued as if it hadn't heard, 'if you hadn't spent every second you could in France you might have had another year to learn about the more interesting fields of magic.'

Salazar was taking it a little too badly for everything to be as it should be.

'What don't I know?' he asked.

'Enough about magic to survive or stand a chance of defeating Voldemort,' the portrait retorted sharply. 'You'll get stronger naturally as you move towards your majority, or if you decide to keep moving through the pages of the books on rituals, but knowledge is a part of power, Harry, and he has decades more of it than you.'

'I don't have decades,' Harry replied a little tartly.

'Which is why you can't afford to waste time.' He shook his head when Harry's eyes narrowed. 'I'm not saying spending time with her is a waste, I know better than most how valuable time like that truly is, but don't forget about everything else.'

'I won't,' Harry assured his ancestor. 'We have a plan,' he reminded the painting, 'several, in fact.'

'I suppose you can learn about the more important areas of magic in our time down here,' Salazar decided. 'Legilimency is what we should start with. Riddle was, as all our family is,' Harry winced, 'talented at the mind arts. You need to be able to keep him out, and use the skill against his followers.'

'I have no safe way of testing my prowess,' Harry shrugged, 'not without provoking Dumbledore to go rooting through my head.'

'That's a bad idea,' Slytherin agreed, 'and you can't exactly learn how I did.'

'Why not?' Harry demanded.

'I learnt from a sphinx,' he said simply. Harry blinked.

He has a point.

'Did it test you?' Harry asked curiously, remembering the sphinx in the maze.

'No,' Salazar shrugged. 'Sphinxes live for thousands of years, but they're normally very reclusive. This one was interested in us, spent centuries studying how we thought in comparison to how it did, I tracked it down near the Byzantine city of Ephesus and convinced it to teach me about the mind arts. It was an unexplored branch of magic back then, not many wizards bothered with it, and most still don't. It takes a certain type of wizard or witch to understand and master it.'

'It tested me,' Harry told him.

'You met a sphinx?!' The painting dropped its wand in surprise.

'There was one in the tournament,' Harry shrugged, unconcerned.

'A sphinx would not have deigned to take any part of that tournament,' Salazar shook his head. 'They don't care about wizards and their affairs, not when they can strip every thought from your head in an instant.'

'Than what was it doing there!'

'Testing you, obviously,' Slytherin retorted. 'Did it tell you anything?'

'A riddle, one I don't understand.'

'Well don't forget it,' the founder told him sternly, 'it will make sense when you need it, no doubt.'

'I shall teach you the principles of legilimency, then,' the painting decided. 'You'll have to find your own way to test yourself and your progress.'

'Now?' There was still a little time before he had to sneak to the Great Hall and pretend he had been on the train.

'I'll give you a brief introduction,' Salazar confirmed.

Harry took a seat behind the desk, pushing the stack of newspapers and the bag of galleons to one side.

'Legilimency is not the opposite of occlumency,' Slytherin began firmly. 'That's a generalisation made by wizards who don't understand the subject. Occlumency is organising and controlling your own emotions, memories and thoughts, whereas legilimency is the art of reading and understanding those of others. It is a different principle entirely, and far less obvious.'

Harry was tempted to argue, both the sphinx and Riddle had been far from subtle in their attempts to use it upon him, but he refrained, because there wasn't time for Salazar's rebuttal and explanation.

'The first step is active legilimency, the incantation is legilimens and it requires direct eye contact to maintain for those who are not a master of the art. This is not the same as transfiguration, you can't visualise it, your intent must be entirely focused by will. Active legilimency is a battle of intellect and intention. The mind is not a straight forward object, you cannot read from its pages, meaning and connection must be gleaned by more abstract means, like all the best branches of magic,' Salazar added cheerfully.

'And passive legilimency?'

'The more subtle, undetectable by the unaware, aspect. It's an extension of wandless, wordless, active legilimency and very hard to master. You have to perfectly find the edge of the knife, a legilimency attack so light it cannot be felt, but strong enough to skim the surface thoughts and emotions of your target.' The painting petted his serpent thoughtfully.

'I felt it when Dumbledore tried to use it against me?' Harry inquired.

'You're a practitioner of occlumency, you're much more aware of your mind, so you are more sensitive to such attacks.'

'That makes sense,' Harry agreed.

'Go to the feast,' the painting sighed, 'I can see you edging towards the door as it is.'

Harry shot him a rueful smile, but strode out with a parting wave.

'Oh wave,' he heard the painting say bitingly as he crossed the bridge, 'why don't you wave your wand at that basilisk that you still haven't removed?'

Harry smiled, pausing before the gaping mouth of the basilisk, and sending a thin stream of fiendfyre down its throat. A ghastly, red glow poured out through the dead serpent's mouth and eyes, brightening to white, then its scales hardened and the whole thing crumbled to ash.

They drifted gently across the chamber, settling onto the floor where Harry vanished them.

'Hey Myrtle,' he called out into the toilet above the chamber.

There was a loud squeal of surprise and the pearly figure of the ghostly girl flew through the two cubicles walls.

'Harry,' she gasped, flushing silver. 'How did you get here?' Students aren't meant to be at the castle yet,' she whispered slyly.

'I came to see you, Myrtle,' he smiled. 'Things are going to be complicated this year, he's back, the one who opened the chamber.'

'I thought he was dead,' Myrtle paled, turning so translucent Harry could hardly see her.

'I need you to watch the entrance for me, Myrtle,' Harry asked, his tone serious. 'Tell me if you see anyone near it, or looking for it, anything suspicious at all.'

'I will, Harry,' she promised. 'I'll do anything I can to make sure he's defeated.'

'Thank you, Myrtle,' Harry reached out and placed his finger on the ghost's cold cheek, brushing the cold echo of life with its tip.

'Any time,' she stuttered, then squeaked and dived back into her toilet.

Good. Now I have a guard on the entrance to the chamber.

He felt a little bit guilty for deceiving Myrtle, but it wasn't quite a lie, and he needed a pair of eyes to make sure he knew if anybody found where he was, or even started looking.

It took a small list of spells to make sure he was hidden, the disillusionment charm, the muffling charm and an older, rather clever adaption of the concealing charm that hid anything he touched. Harry suspected it would hide footprints, his scent, and more but had yet to test it.

He arrived in the throng of students flooding into the hall, sliding into a seat alongside Neville and dispelling his pieces of magic.

'Hey, Nev.'

The shy boy jumped several inches, but didn't squeak like he used to. 'Harry,' he smiled, glancing nervously down to where Ron, Seamus and Dean had gathered with Hermione. The whole group seemed more subdued than normal, Seamus and Ron were whispering to one another, but their conversation seemed tired, like the arguments they probably still had about quidditch when the same points were repeated over and over.

He's worried about their reaction to me, Harry realised.

'Don't worry about them, Nev,' he reassured him.

'They might be angry that I'm talking to you,' Neville said sadly.

'Will that make you stop?' Harry asked, knowing the answer before he gave it.

'No,' Neville denied fiercely.

'Then why worry?'

Neville seemed to consider that, then grinned. 'I suppose not, it's hardly anything compared to what the Daily Prophet has been writing about you and Dumbledore.'

'I have a very nice collection of headlines,' Harry smiled. He had a stack of about twenty in the chamber, all dedicated to the smear campaign against anyone who might disagree with the Ministry's version of events. Most of the articles focused on Dumbledore and his supporters in the Wizengamot, but Harry's mentions were normally equally derogatory, just fewer in number.

'I had to make Gran subscribe again so I could see what they were writing.'

He argued with his grandmother?

Neville's letters over the summer had started to imply a certain step up in confidence, with both changes in phrasing and words that were written more firmly onto the parchment, but saying anything against his grandmother was a way beyond what Harry had been expecting.

'Rita Skeeter is a very good journalist,' Harry laughed, 'a terrible person, though. I do wonder how she finds out some of the things she does. Her articles on some of Dumbledore's more outspoken supporters were quite personal and unexpected.'

'Just don't let her find out about your trips to France,' Neville warned, very grave, 'you know what the Ministry will do with that.'

Harry knew only too well. The first article, the one at the very bottom of the stack, was dedicated to the Yule Ball and the date he had enjoyed with Fleur.

A french veela, there are few girls that the pure-blooded bigots would hate to associate with more.

'Are you coming back to Gryffindor Tower, then?' Neville pressed.

Harry had said he was considering it in his letters. The animosity of his housemates had faded towards the end of last year, but after the summer of the Ministry smearing his name he wasn't sure it was the best idea.

'You should,' Neville told him, 'you can't keep using the room, it isn't fair that you're uncomfortable in your own dormitories.'

'I'll come back,' Harry decided. It would be best to act as normally as possible from the beginning to avoid the watchful eye of Dumbledore. He had a prophecy to find, and that would be far easier if he wasn't already under suspicion.

Somewhere at the front of the room the hat finished singing and the huddle of nervous looking first years began to be sorted. Harry wasn't particularly interested in the sorting. He knew by now that if Voldemort intended to try and get to him it would come through the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.

The new teacher, given she was the only new face, was a dumpy, wide-faced woman whose sickly smile and horrible pink, velvet attire were likely a step too far even for Riddle. If he was hiding somewhere under all that pink then Harry tipped his hat to him for managing to endure the mortification that must come with it.

His attention was swiftly dragged away from the new teacher to the sudden arrival of steak and kidney pie. It was, inevitably, accompanied by more pumpkin related products than he could shake a fork at, or ever desire to eat.

Further down the table, Katie, who had found herself wedged in between the twin, winked at him and gave a small wave of greeting.

Harry returned it with a small smile. He'd missed his friends, despite having the company of Fleur. Letters were simply not the same.

As the tables cleared the headmaster rose to speak, approaching his lectern with a cheerful gleam in his eyes just as he had every time for the last four years.

Unlike the previous times he was cut off by the clear, precise throat clearing of Hogwarts' new teacher. Harry watched, fascinated, as the squat, pink-clad woman began to speak instead.

'My name is Dolores Umbridge, former Undersecretary to the Minister, and your new Professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts.'

That was all Harry needed to hear. He didn't need to listen to her spiel on slipping standards and ministerial concern, or Hermione's outraged proclamation, to understand what was about to begin happening this year.

The Ministry is afraid of Dumbledore's influence here.

He wasn't all that surprised. The children of most of magical Britain were within these walls and the old wizard's grasp. Riddle's Death-Eaters and Dumbledore's followers had all been interfering within the school at some point over the last few years. The Ministry were last to the party, which was almost amusing considering they were the only ones legally allowed to take action. The real dilemma was how Harry could get this to benefit him and his search for that prophecy.

Umbridge sat down, a satisfied simper spread across her wide, pale face. She was the catalyst, Harry decided. Her character and actions would determine what he had to do this year to get what he needed. He wouldn't be waiting for Voldemort to come and try to kill him, or letting Dumbledore move him around while he remained blind, not this time. This time he had his own plans, and they would be fulfilled.

Dumbledore thanked the new professor very graciously for her words, but the twinkle had faded from his eyes. There were four sides at Hogwarts now. Riddle's, Dumbledore's, the Ministry's and Harry. His advantage lay in everyone assuming there were three.

It's like a game, he grinned.

AN: Please read and review, and thanks to everyone who does. Yes, I skipped out the whole summer, which is a massive, sudden timeskip, but, in context, probably necessary and nothing to panic over. Well, not unless you wanted to read ten chapters of serious filler, punctuated only by fluffy Fleur moments and the occasional piece of Dudley baiting. I did have a few good ideas for the latter, though...