The very last dinner before the train left the Great Hall was loud.

Very loud.

Very, very loud.

Everyone was getting their last bit of whatever-it-was-they-wanted-to-say in before the new year, and there were no upcoming tests to force particularly studious students to spend the meal bent over one book over another.

So.

Loud.

Harry didn't really like loud noises, but he pushed past that discomfort to stay involved in the conversation and, more importantly, to keep an eye on the rest of the hall.

The Weasley twins had given him the heads up the day before, and like hell was he going to miss this.

It was, unsurprisingly, the Slytherin table that was effected first.

"B!" Several voices shouted. Then, a few seconds later, "U!"

Just as they were shouting U the next group—scattered throughout the Great Hall—shouted "B!" They'd barely gotten the letter out before a new group (including the twins themselves) were shouting "B!" By then the first group was already to "L!"

There seemed to be, in total, five distinct clusters of shouters. They were synced up with each other, but not the rest of the groups, so it was a bit difficult to understand—definitely difficult to listen to—but as the group finished their shouting and rounded back to "B!" The message became clear: BULLY! BULLY! BULLY!

The Weasleys had decided not to attack the first or second years. They'd give the younger bullies a taste of what to come, they'd explained, before subjecting the 'ickle' first and second years to the public punishment.

Still, that left five other classes of students to target.

And, over the course of the last week (the Weasleys had decided to start with just people who had bullied over that period, so that they were able to get the prank done in time) there were apparently many, many students who had done something the twins had qualified as bullies.

BULLY! BULLY! BULLY!

The professors were now scattered among the Hall, trying desperately to help stop the prank. Harry's eyes darted to the clock.

BULLY! BULLY! BULLY!

Professor McGonagall was standing next to the twins, interrogating them between the shouts, but she looked as if she believed them when they said they hadn't done anything that day.

Harry wondered if that were actually true—he didn't know how they'd accomplished the prank (it was one of their largest ever) but they may very well have set it all up the day before.

Then, just as a full five minutes of shouting had passed, the shouting stopped. And, from the ceiling, a previously hidden banner unfurled right on top of Dumbledore's seat.

Prepare for a New School Order

-The Mutineers

They'd really liked that name.

Harry was one of the last to disembark from the train. Usually he'd have just walked with Hermione and Ron, but he'd sat with Ron, Dean, and Seamus on the way back—they'd played many games of exploding snap—and it had a) taken them longer to pack up to get off the train and b) not left in nearly as much of a group.

So it was easier for him to slip back, for him to walk slower.

He'd already changed into his 'normal clothes', had tried (and failed) to brush his hair, had let anyone who was scrambling down the corridor walk in front of him.

But there was really only so long he could put it off.

He stepped down onto terra firma and began slowly making his way back to the real world.

He smiled at his friends as he passed them, carefully maneuvered his trunk between everyone else's (he didn't have a cage this time, had never bothered with buying one—he just told Hedwig where he lived and trusted that she'd find her way there.

Even as he took the time to wave, to take extra steps not to bump into anyone, to take the longer route…

Well, the platform was about as long as the train. There was still little he could do to postpone time.

He walked through.

Aunt Petunia was standing at the other side, tapping her foot in tandem to the busker several meters behind her (though he doubted she'd noticed.) "There you are. Come on, little time to waste."

He was ignored for the whole of the way back.

Number Four Private Drive looked the same, unsurprisingly. They shuffled into the house and, within minutes, were partaking in the dinner—Aunt Petunia had put short ribs in their pressure cooker earlier that day.

After the meal (Dudley had dominated the conversation, bragged about this aspect of his life or that. Harry couldn't bring himself to care, much less contribute) his aunt asked him to stay downstairs.

"The social worker will be here tomorrow." His aunt said. "To check up on you."

"Okay."

"Do… are you going to…"

"We're not allowed to use magic during breaks." Harry said.

"Good. Good."

"Yep."

"Do you… do you need anything from me, from us, over break? Dudley will be… he was invited to a party for New Year's Eve."

"There's a Christmas party." Harry said. "If you get me to London I should be able to make the rest of the way fine."

"But you'll look—"

"I can change there."

"Good. Good."

"Anything else?"

"No. Wait—yes. Um, what do you want for Christmas?"

"A new notebook? Maybe some pens?"

"Yes, that… that works. Anything else?"

Harry blinked at his aunt, and she twisted her hands.

"The social worker—she didn't think it was a good thing, that you and Dudley went to different schools. The letter you left helped, but… what else do you want for Christmas?"

"You could get a computer? For Dudley and I to share?"

"That… would work, yes. We'll do that."

"Great."

"Alright. Um, your chores are the same."

"Got it."

"That's it."

"Alright. See you tomorrow Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon." He nodded to both. They nodded back.

Harry went upstairs, found Hedwig outside his window, and immediately dashed off a letter to Professor McGonagall for proof of his enrollment for the government.

(It was so stupid of him to only leave a letter. Of course they would want more—that was obvious. How had he not considered—well. Anyway. He just needed to be more on top of things, that's all.)

The letter back—apparently the school had a packet prepared for just this occasion—arrived not half an hour before Linda, his social worker.

"Hi Linda."

"Hi Harry! How are you doing? You look good."

"Thanks."

"Do you like your new school?"

"I do, yes. Actually—I have this packet."

"Oh, that is very helpful. Unfortunate that I couldn't get it earlier—" she cut a look at aunt Petunia, "—but better late than never."

"Yeah, I hadn't even thought of it and I think aunt Petunia didn't want me to worry about it." Harry said instead of "actually she had no way to contact me most of the time and the whole 'owl-mail' thing makes her ridiculously uncomfortable anyway."

"And how are you doing otherwise?" Linda asked. "Enjoying your classes?"

"Yeah." Harry said. "I don't like my History class—the teacher's really boring, which sucks because I usually like the subject—but besides that my teachers are pretty good. My science teacher's strict, though, but that's because my school emphasizes hands-on learning and he doesn't want us to accidently hurt ourselves."

Linda made a few notes on her notepad. "And any friends?"

"Yeah, loads, actually. I'm getting along with just about everyone in my house—Dean and I play football, Ron's teaching me chess, and all of us boys play card games and stuff and study together too."

"That's lovely, lovely! And are you keeping up with hobbies?"

"Yeah. Right now I'm actually trying to set up a new club—fencing. They used to have it but then not enough people signed up, but I think learning how to sword fight would be really cool."

Linda laughed. Aunt Petunia, sitting ramrod straight in the other chair, attempted to do the same.

"And you're healthy?"

"Yeah. They've got an in-school doctor, so I got a check-up last month." This was bullshit, but whatever.

"That's lovely. Well, it was great to check in with you Harry. Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas Linda."

"Merry Christmas." Aunt Petunia said.

Linda left.

Aunt Petunia sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Could you—go away for a bit."

"Sure, aunt Petunia." Harry said. "But can you take me to the library tomorrow?"

"Fine, fine. Just—"

"Yeah." Harry disappeared back upstairs.

That was one thing done, at least.

But now it was time to deal with Quirrel.

It took him some time to decide what exactly to send. It had to be a Christmas-y gift, edible, and something that would actually be eaten.

Harry joined his aunt at the grocery store that week and spent the entirety of the trip wandering through the aisles, looking up and down. At last, and with no small amount of apprehension, he settled on something that he felt had the higher chance of success: a fruit basket.

(Actually, he picked out like ten different items but kept on returning them as he second-guessed himself. The fruit basket was just what he was holding when his aunt found him and told him it was time to check out.)

Hedwig winged off that evening, and the next morning returned with a barn owl. He had no idea where the owl was from, or even how they had been chosen; he'd just asked Hedwig to find an owl that couldn't be traced back to him.

Duplicating the fruit basket took a bit of time, but it was still fairly straightforward; he'd been able to do that sort of magic without a focus even before re-entering Hogwarts. Making sure that every attempt was perfect, however, and ensuring that exactly the right amount of magic was used… he spent two hours making sure he'd done everything just as he wanted to.

Writing the card was much more difficult. Getting the handwriting, the wording, the tone right… he made six drafts, then slept on it and chose the one that made the most sense the next morning.

That day, three days before Christmas Eve, he sent the barn owl off with the letter, basket, and the makings of his very first truly premeditated murder.

Then he did the laundry, because that was supposed to be Dudley's chore but he had a meltdown every time someone actually tried to make him do it.

After sending Hedwig off one more time—to pick up the suit he'd sent measurements in for at the beginning of the month—he dedicated that day and the following to homework; that way, he had the entirety of the rest of the break free for his plans.

The Ministerial Ball took place on December 23rd, at the Ministry. Harry changed in the bathroom of a pub (not the worst thing he'd ever done, but certainly not an experience he'd be gunning for again) then slipped into the red phone booth, dialing 6-2-4-4-2 and giving his purpose as "attending the ball."

As the booth dropped him down, down, down into the atrium Harry took a deep breath.

This was it—this was when he started making big moves, big changes. He'd done some things already, of course; killing the basilisk, (hopefully) dealing with Quirrell, involving the school board…

But this was different.

He'd killed the basilisk before.

Killed Quirrell before.

The school board hadn't yet done anything.

This… even if nothing actually came of it, it would still completely change how the most powerful people in Magical Britain thought of him, how they would treat him, whether they would help him.

He stopped moving at stepped out, releasing his breath as he did.

Time to stand out. Time to not only be, but also act like "The Boy Who Lived." Yay.

A/N:

If you have any questions/comments/concerns/ideas/edits, put them in a review and I'll try to answer/read/explain/incorporate/fix them.