I own none of it, ja?

"W-wotcher, H-Harry," Tonks stuttered, her body tensing as she dropped whatever it was she had held in her hands.

Pulling the young Auror to her feet unceremoniously, Harry slammed her against the wall, his hand at her throat and wand beneath her chin. Emerald eyes burned with unnatural fire.

"Looking for something, Nymphadora?" he asked in a deadly voice, pinning her against the wall.

"Ow," Tonks groaned, failing in her attempt to massage the back of her head. She couldn't move her arms due to the pressure he had on them. "Jeez Harry, you want to send me to St. Mungo's?"

"In my current mood, Tonks, Mungo's won't be enough to save you," Harry said coldly, his grip on her throat tightening slightly. "Now, how about you tell me what the bloody hell you're doing in my room, or I'll give you another hole to breath out of."

"Whoa, wait a minute Harry," the metamorphmagus choked out. "Lets not overreact, now."

Tonks quickly realized that was not the right thing to say.

"Overreact?" Harry growled, cutting off her air supply even more. "I think I'm reacting quite well, Tonks, under the circumstances. You do know that what you were doing can be considered an act of treason? In Sicily you would dead by now."

"Act of treason?" the young Auror spluttered indignantly, trying to break free of his grasp. "I haven't betrayed anyone."

Harry chuckled darkly, unnerving Tonks even more.

"Oh, but you have Nymphadora," he hissed. "Your mother is a Black, which by blood, makes you a Black as well. Now, perhaps you've forgotten, but Sirius did make me the Head of the House of Black in his will.

"Which means, Tonks, in case you haven't caught on yet," Harry continued ruthlessly," that you have betrayed your family Lord. And despite being disowned, I've no doubt that Andromeda instructed you in the ways and rules of the Black Family. You betrayed the head of your house quite knowingly."

"L-L-Look, Harry," Tonks stuttered, desperation evident in her voice. "I was j-just doing what D-Dumbledore told me to."

Emerald eyes darkened at mentioned of the Mugwump.

"Fuck you, Tonks, and fuck the old man," Harry snarled. "I don't give a shit what he told you to do. A line was crossed, and despite whatever qualms you may have had, you're still the one who did it."

Ignoring her whimpered plea, he looked down, noticing for the first time what she had been searching through. His father's invisibility cloak lay beside his trunk, and a crumpled envelop Harry recognized as his first Hogwarts letter.

His ticket out of hell. A letter that had changed his life for the better. Despite the expectations, finger pointing, criticizing, abandonment and death that would follow.

His blood froze though, when he recognized the last object Tonks had been looking through. The leather bound photo album containing the only pictures he had of his parents. Emerald eyes turned dangerously cold.

"I see," Harry hissed softly, somehow controlling the fury that raged through his veins.

He may have lost all respect for the old man, but he never expected Dumbledore to stoop this low. Searching through a sixteen year old's private belongings? It was underhanded. It was unfair. What had he ever done to warrant such treatment? Such irrational suspicion? Such unwavering mistrust? They events of the past were largely outside his control, yet he was still scrutinized and suspected of every wrong doing.

He had given them nothing but faith and trust, was it so difficult for them to return it?

They found out he was a Parselmouth, and they turned their back on him. Someone put his name in the Goblet of Fire, and they turned their back on him. He warned them of the Dark Lord's rebirth, and they turned their back on him.

What had he ever asked of them? All that he ever wanted was anonymity, but apparently that was unacceptable. They would ignore whatever unethical activities may be committed, so long as to keep a leash on their Golden Boy.

It wasn't right. They were meddling in things that ought not be meddled in. One would think they would have learned their lesson by now. It seemed he would have to simplify the message.

They had gone too far.

"Obliviate," Harry muttered, pointing his holly wand at the fidgeting Auror.

A dazed look came over her as the charm took effect, and Tonks shook her head, looking around in a confused manner. She would have no recollection of the multi-compartment trunk, nor of the items stored within it.

Grabbing the Auror roughly by the arm, Harry dragged her out of his room and through the freshly painted hallways. Several of the portraits watched with interest as he steered Tonks forcefully down the winding staircase.

Seeing the fury in the Lord Black's eyes, they were wise enough to hold their canvas tongues.

Making it to the ground floor and paying no mind to a nervous Hermione and the two redheads that timidly approached, Harry led a spluttering Tonks to the kitchen where the Order meeting was held.

Hard punishment was the only kind.

Ignoring the Imperturbable Charm placed upon the wooden door, Harry blasted it to pieces with a flick of his wand.

"After you, Nymphadora," Harry said, shoving the reluctant Auror through the now open doorway. They apparently interrupted in the middle of Snape's report, as the spy stood at the head of the table, giving his usual bit about Death Eaters, Dark Lords, and all things evil.

At the commotion caused by the door being blown apart though, the majority of the Order rose from their seats with wands raised. Snape, instead of drawing his own, merely took a long step to the side, effectively taking himself out of the line of fire.

A preservative move, but no more than he would expect from the veteran spy.

"Harry?" Remus asked, frowning slightly as he lowered his wand. "What's going on?"

All the members, Snape included, watched in shock and confusion as Harry shoved Tonks forcefully into the room. Confusion for those who had not previously noticed the young Auror's absence from the Order meeting.

"I found this. . . . thing," Harry said, his upper lip curling with disgust,"in my room, searching through my private belongings."

All eyes immediately snapped toward Tonks, who was trying to vanish quite unsuccessfully.

"What are you talking about, Potter?" Moody growled, both eyes watching Harry closely. Unlike the others, the grizzled ex-Auror had yet to lower his wand, which was currently aimed at Harry's heart.

Paranoid bastard.

"What I mean," Harry shot back, "is that a ward was breached a short time ago. I was in the library at the time, and chose to investigate such a strange occurrence. Who should I find but Tonks here, searching through my personal possessions.

"I wonder," Harry continued, cold eyes shifting to Dumbledore, "what could she have been looking for, Headmaster?"

All eyes that were on Harry now shifted to the Mugwump, who was standing frozen in place. He could practically hear the gears turning in the old coot's head.

"I fail to see how I should now, Harry," Dumbledore said neutrally, he could hear the warning beneath the old man's words though. "Nymphadora's actions are her - "

"Don't try bull-shitting your way out of this one, old man," Harry snapped, cutting the Headmaster off. "It was on your orders that Tonks searched my room, you meddlesome fool."

"Harry James Potter!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked, her face rapidly changing colors," how dare - "

"QUIET!" Harry snarled, effectively cutting the woman off. Turning his glare back to the old coot, he said in a cold voice, "Tonks was there because you told her to, Dumbledore. Do you deny it?"

The Order members all looked to their leader, and several of them frowned as Dumbledore paled ever so slightly.

"I would never tell a member of the Order of the Phoenix to do - "

"Bullshit!" Harry said, cutting the man off for a second time. "She admitted to it, old man. Unless you're implying that this is all a farce, set up by Tonks and I?"

"No, Harry," Dumbledore said, the twinkle in his eyes non-existent. "I am implying no such thing."

"So you admit to it?" Harry asked, disdain evident in his voice.

"Harry, it was for your own - "

"Yes, I know!" Harry snapped. "My own fucking good!"

By this time the entire Order was watching the exchange with wide eyes, their heads moving from Harry to Dumbledore like it was some sort of muggle tennis match. Mrs. Weasley had turned an odd shade of purple by now, and Harry absentmindedly wondered if she was of any relation to Vernon Dursley. The red headed matriarch seemed close to exploding once more, so Harry silenced her with a mild glare.

She may have meant the best, but her mother-henning was really starting to annoy him.

"Really, Dumbledore," Harry said with a Snape-worthy sneer, "lowering yourself to trespassing and petty burglary. Apparently you think your righteous moral code exempts you from any wrong you may commit."

"Harry, I can only ask for your forgiveness. I was doing what was best," the old coot said. The words were no doubt spoken to the Order members, many of whom were looking at him with shock or disgust, as much as they were to Harry.

"Who the hell are you to decide what's best for me?" Harry asked ruthlessly, showing the old man no mercy. "My forgiveness I will not give, for you hardly deserve it.

"I will give you something though," he said to Dumbledore and the stunned audience. "Something which you have earned through your actions over the years. . . . . . .and especially of late.

"Dobby!" he called out.

The male house elf appeared beside him with a small crack, looking around the full kitchen with wide eyes. Some of the Order members were frowning slightly, no doubt wondering what Harry was on about.

No mercy. They had brought it upon themselves.

"Dobby, they have five minutes" he said, gesturing to the Order members,"If they're not out by then, notify the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madame Bones' office."

The house elf nodded quickly, a nasty smirk spreading across his face at the instructions. The Order members though, did not seem very happy. Indignant outcries came from the large majority, and the resulting din became rather loud.

"Quiet!" Harry yelled, as Winky popped in to provide mob control.

"Harry, what is this?" Dumbledore demanded as he rose from his seat, blue eyes as hard as diamonds.

Harry was far from fazed.

"This?" he snarled, eyes just as hard as Dumbledore's. "This, old man, is the consequence of your relentless manipulations! Your constant meddling and blind prejudice! You seem to think that laws apply for all save yourself!"

"I won't allow you to - "

"I said QUIET!" Harry bellowed, as every piece of glass and china in the kitchen exploded.

"You have no say in the matter you meddling fool!" he continued in a frosty voice. "You brought this upon yourself, and you will reap the whirlwind. Perhaps you will actually learn something from this encounter, though I highly doubt it."

The power was there, he could feel it running just below the surface, intoxicating and addictive. It would be so easy to let it loose, to thrash out at those who had wronged him. To unleash the power that was his by right.

Harry quickly smothered those thoughts. As tempting as it was, it probably wouldn't go over well if he blasted Dumbledore from here to the Rhine.

Leaving them with one last sneer, he said, "the Order of the Phoenix is no longer welcome at number twelve Grimmauld Place."

"Have you ever heard of a man called Janus?" Charles Morgan inquired as he took a sip of his tea.

It was early Tuesday afternoon; the second meeting between Harry and the Lord of Morgan. They currently sat in the Morgan family library, which he grudgingly admitted was larger than that of House Black.

"Sure," Harry answered, trying to recall what little Voldemort knew of the illusive figure. "He was the Head of the Department of Mysteries during the first war. Janus was a code name; an alias if you will. His born identity was known only to a select few, as was his true appearance."

"Good," Charles said, nodding his head in approval. "You know more than most."

Taking another sip of his tea, the Lord Morgan continued.

"Janus is a legend among the Unspeakables, and his reputation even spread to the general public, though his name is all but forgotten today," Charles said, his voice taking a reflective tone. "People tend to let slip the memory of unpleasant times, they don't wish to recall the strife and turmoil that comes with war and conflict."

The ice green eyes had glazed over as he spoke, in what Harry uneasily recognized as sorrow. Shaking his head slightly, the elder lord went on.

"As you conveyed, little is known of the man. There are a few facts among the mysteries, though. The man later called Janus joined the Department shortly after completing his schooling. It's believed that he attended Hogwarts, though that was never confirmed.

"He spent over fifty years in the program, and the majority of his work is classified to this day.

In the early 70's he was appointed Head of the Department of Mysteries, shortly after Voldemort began his reign of terror. Due to the threat of the Dark Lord and increased security measures, he was given a pseudonym, or an alias, to be precise."

"I take it this was about the time you entered the Department?" Harry asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"A few years later," Charles said, nodding in affirmation. "I joined up in the later part of the decade, right as things were heating up.

"Janus brought a lot of changes to the Department. Things that mostly benefitted the Unspeakables. . . . . . and drove Barty Crouch mad. He was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the time, and was always trying to get his hands into our research. The Minister is the only one with complete access to the files and information contained in the Department of Mysteries, besides the Department Head that is, and old Barty didn't like that. He was also a leading advocate for banning the Dark Arts."

"I thought Crouch gave the Aurors authorization to use the Unforgivables?" Harry asked, frowning slightly.

"Oh, he did," Charles said, running a hand threw his long hair. "Crouch gave the Aurors increased privileges, but he didn't necessarily want anyone else to have them."

Pausing momentarily, Morgan refilled the tea pot with a flick of his wand.

"The nature of the Unspeakables' work though, is rather. . . . . underhanded. . . . . at times, and can get downright dangerous. Janus fought long and hard to get us authorization to use the Dark Arts if need be, and he had to go above Crouch to do so."

"You mean he went to Bagnold?" Harry asked, filling his cup.

"That's right," Charles confirmed, nodding slightly. "Millicent Bagnold was the Minister of Magic at the time, and the only one superior to Barty Crouch. He and Janus where at the same level authority wise. Neither could issue the other a direct order, but they could run circles and play word games."

"How so?" Harry asked.

"Janus created an amendment to the Ministry Constitution," Charles began. "Due to the nature of it, the bill was sent directly to Bagnold, so the Council portion of the Wizengamot wouldn't have the chance to veto it. What it did was effectively protect the Unspeakables from numerous Ministry laws. If subjected to Veritaserum, we could not be questioned as to the nature of our work, nor could we be forced to reveal Department secrets."

"I'm sure Crouch loved that," Harry said sarcastically.

Morgan smirked in response.

"The amendments made quite the front page news, at the time," he continued. "Especially because Janus was such a mysterious figure. Not even Voldemort new of his true identity. Much public support was gained by our actions, as we had a higher capture rate than the Auror Department."

Harry, whose mind was working overtime as it processed the new information, could easily see where Charles was going with this.

"And then Rookwood," he commented quietly.

Ice green eyes darkened visibly, and Morgan's upper lip curled in disgust at hearing the spy's name.

The elder lord nodded.

"The scandal that followed Rookwood's conviction rocked the Department," Charles said bitterly. "Our public support nearly vanished overnight; much to Crouch's pleasure, I imagine. The Unspeakables were suddenly put under a tighter rein, and many of the protections that were issued us were quickly taken away. Our work was still classified of course, but not nearly as secretive as it was before.

"And Janus, who weeks prior had been hailed a 'Hero of the Shadows', was now put under heavy scrutiny. Crouch was at the center of it, demanding to know the man's true identity, trying to get complete access to the Department files. . . . .

"Of course," Charles said, a twisted smile crossing his face. "Old Barty had his own 'fall from grace' shortly after. That whole mess with his son made even bigger news than Rookwood's trial. And it only served to increase the animosity between Crouch and Janus. Not surprising, considering the people involved in the event."

"Crouch was ruined because of Junior's conviction," Harry commented, filing that last bit of information away. "But what happened to Janus?"

"No one knows," Charles replied, frowning as he noticed his cup was empty.

"What do you mean?"Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sighing heavily, Morgan poured himself more tea.

"Janus disappeared shortly after Crouch Jr.'s trial," he said. "Seeing as his true identity went with him, he's never been found."

"Never been found?" Harry asked skeptically. "You've just wasted twenty minutes of my time telling a ghost story?"

"I said Janus has never been found," Charles said irritably, scowling at Harry. "But as you yourself said, Janus was only an alias."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"So if you haven't wasted the last twenty minutes of my time," he began, refilling his own cup, "I assume you are one of the few who know is real name?"

There was a pause.

"You're no fun," Charles finally pouted.

Harry merely snorted. Morgan sighed once more.

"He was most interested in what I had to say," the elder lord said, shrugging one shoulder. "And for some inexplicable reason, in meeting you as well."

"I'm flattered," Harry said dryly.

It was Morgan's turn to role his eyes.

"I scheduled a meeting for sometime next week," the pony-tailed man said. "Now, I have given you my choice. Perhaps you could indulge me with the identity of yours."

Harry smirked at the older man, pondering whether he should conjure a camera to catch the reaction. Instead, he merely said two words.

"Norahdi Draven."

Charles, who had previously been looking out the nearest window, snapped his head around at Harry's words. Ice green eyes quickly filled with a mix of shock, disbelief, and ever growing horror. His normally refined voice was a barely audible whisper.

"The Heir of Voldemort?"

The icy waters of the North Sea broke upon the rocky cliffs of the island, howling winds emitting a tumultuous rage. A lone beach stood out among the jagged rocks, black sand the only relief on an isle of unforgiving stone.

Built in the center of the barren island was an imposing structure made of the strongest ore. Ominous gates sealed the building from the outside, while a series of guard towers watched the rock strewn land below. The grandest of armies have fallen before these impenetrable walls, and sorcerers of the greatest skill have failed to claim victory against the notorious castle.

The dread fortress of Azkaban.

The dark corridors of the prison were lined with countless cells, reinforced doors keeping the inmates at bay. They weren't needed to prevent escape though; not when the majority of the residents were trapped within their own head, plagued by the worst nightmares of their past, haunted by demons that never slept. They were incapable of thinking in a sane manner.

In retrospect. . . . . . . . it was the closest thing to Hell on Earth.

Due to the Dementors mutiny, an Auror squadron was stationed on Azkaban Island at all times. Human guards had been hired as well, and could be found walking the prison halls at regular intervals, making any escape attempt even harder.

A heavy iron door at the end of a long corridor led to Azkaban's most known residents. The High Security Block was guarded at all times, Aurors stationed outside the cells twenty four hours a day. Only the most dangerous of convicts were contained there. Only those who had committed the most vile of crimes. Bellatrix Lestrange was housed here before her escape, and brothers Rudulphus and Rabastan were back again. The additional members of the botched ministry raid were contained in similar holdings.

It was in cell thirteen however, where Azkakan's most notorious inmate could be found. A prisoner more infamous than Sirius Black. His name was Norahdi Arcerias Draven.

The Dark Heir of Lord Voldemort.

Cold blue eyes pierced the darkness as he remembered, power radiating from their depths. Even after all this time in Azkaban, it still came at his call. Though it did him little good in his current situation, after the Aurors lined his cell with magical suppressors.

Assholes.

Fifteen years. Fifteen years now, that he'd been locked away. Fifteen years in Hell. Fifteen years of fighting the Dementors, of reinforcing his shields to keep the soul suckers out. They were no longer a problem, though. The hellish fiends had left Azkaban Island, and Norahdi Draven knew very well why.

He could easily make out the Dark Mark tattooed upon his forearm, even through the torn robes and layers of dirt and grime. Two years ago it had begun to darken, and it often burned black of late. Yes, the man who was once the Dark Heir knew all too well what that meant.

Tom was back.

It came as no surprise, really. The man's knowledge of magic had been second to none. He of all people knew that, as Tom had been his personal instructor for nearly a decade. Such were the perks of being chosen the Dark Heir.

There were few others.

Of course the bastard would come back, it had only been a question of when. Norahdi had pondered often over the years, the choices of his past. Especially compared to those of his former comrades. Bellatrix took the Mark out of servitude, and to quench the insane pleasure she derived from torture. Lucius took the Mark out of ambition and hunger for power, while Severus did so for his ideals. The rat Wormtail took the Mark because of his insecurities, as he knew he would never be as good as Potter and Black.

Or the wolf, for that matter.

And as for Norahdi? He had taken the Mark out of self-preservation. . . . . . and in the interests of survival. He had taken it because he was the Dark Heir, and Tom would have killed him if he had not.

In hindsight though, perhaps death would have been better. Hell would have no doubt been his punishment, if such a place existed. Despite his true loyalties, he had still committed atrocities in his desire to survive.

Though, as he reminded himself, Azkaban wasn't much different than Hell.

The bitter days had passed slowly, and weeks had eventually turned into years. He probably would have forgotten how long it had been, were it not for the smug Aurors who constantly reminded him.

Bastards.

A dozen times he had made plans for escape, and went threw with more than one. He had even smelt fresh air once, before the Dementors dragged him back. Despite being in their presence for nearly have his life, sanity was one of the few things he could still call his own. His skill at Occlumency probably helped in that area.

His anger didn't hurt either.

That was something Norahdi Draven had plenty of. Anger at Tom for molding his life. Anger at the ministry for denying him trial. Anger at the old man for staying quiet. At times of extreme bitterness, he had even been angry at his parents, whose death had started this all.

Anything to place the blame on shoulders not his own, he thought sarcastically. But really, join or die? What kind of choice was that for a small child to make? For some reason the gods hated him. He would have hated them back of course, if he actually believed in them.

Religion was not among the Dark Lord's teachings.

But his thoughts were wandering, as they so often do.

Perhaps his sanity could be attributed to several factors. His Occlumency and anger among them. Retribution was always a good one, too. And he could think of many who deserved the wrath of his vengeance.

Perhaps he would give escape another shot. It would annoy the Aurors, at the very least. And perhaps he would get his revenge, by wielding the power that was his by right. The power that so many had fought over, in the days of old.

Speaking softly in an ancient language, the air around him crackled with power, overwhelming the magical suppressors for a short moment. Cold blue eyes glowed in the darkness as the foreign words registered, and his body gave off a slight glow. A feeling of warmth passed through him as the oath was accepted.

For the first time in many years, Norahdi Draven, formerly the Heir of Voldemort, smiled. He would have to thank the old man one day, for teaching him the Druid tongue. After that, vengeance would be his.

High above the towers of Azkaban, in the plane of the Immortals, and ancient power awoke as her words were spoken. It was the second time in recentmemory that the language of old was used. And as the words came to her, she realized they were similar to those utilized by the prophesied one.

Looking down upon the oath taker, a dark smirk spread across the Immortal's face. Another oath of vengeance had been taken, and Nemesis, goddess of retribution, would watch the coming events with glee.

WHOOOO! DONE! FINISHED! BAM! grins like a goon as he dances the jig in celebration I, Dalyon, hereby submit this chapter on time with accordance to the A/N written at the end of my previous posting. If anyone has any comments, or wishes to refute my claim that this chapter was posted on time, you can do so via review.

Or, quite frankly, you can kiss my ass. WHOOOO!

Now! On to the dirty work! It has come to my attention, thanks to reviewer arcrose, that FAQs, like those I posted at the end of last chapter, are frowned upon by the Dictators - uh, I mean Administrators (coughs nervously) - of this wonderful internet website. I really don't know why, but it's most likely a bullshit rule they created for some inane, unknown reason. And knowing the bloody tyrants - uh, I mean Administrators (looks over his shoulder) - they'll conveniently say that's always been their policy, and the next day there'll be a new rule that officially prohibits it. It's sorta like that crap about the music lyrics. Whatever happened to the old 'unleash your imagination/free your soul' motto?

Don't bother trying to answer that.

Soooo, instead of posting FAQs, or replying to every questioned asked in a review, I'll just give 'excess' information. First off, Neville will be appearing in this fic, and will have a significantly large role. As I have alluded to before, this will not be a romance, for I highly doubt that I could write one. Nor do I want to. You will learn more about the character Charles Morgan as the story goes on. Not before, not after, but as it goes on.

I think I just confused myself with that one.

A few selected members of the Weasley clan will have significant roles in this story. I assure you, it won't be Ron. I don't like Ron. Nicolos Flamel will also have a rather large role in the story. And just to clear some things up people, J.K. never said old Nicky died. She merely wrote that the stone had been destroyed and that they had enough elixir stored to 'set their affairs in order.' Nowhere did she say that the old man bought it, gave up, kicked the rocker, met his maker, went with God, joined his forefathers, or died in any other way, shape, term, or form. Nor did she say it was the only stone Flamel had ever made, she only implied that it was the only one that Albie knew about. For all we know, the son of a roo shooter could be carrying another stone in his bloody pocket.

I somehow doubt that, though. Ah, well, whatever. On an another note though, there were two OCs introduced in this chapter. A man called Janus, who is the former Head of the Department of Mysteries, and Norahdi Draven, formerly the Heir of Voldemort, now imprisoned on Azkaban Island. Both will be key players in the little game I call 'Of Blood and Power', so I suggest you remember their names. Janus is pretty easy, but I will elaborate on the other one.

Norahdi Draven: norah - die, drey - vin

Well, I think that's all. Uh, pretty sure, at least. Until next time you hip and cool dudes, CONSTANT VIGILANCE!