At 5:30 AM, Hermione Granger entered the Common Room of her house. Slytherin.

Her hair was wild, standing up, with small trickles of lightning flashing through it every few minutes. Her eyes were wide, and she was breathing heavily, holding her wand and a shoe.

Anywhere else, she would have been a robe-wearing street urchin with one shoe. But this was Hogwarts, and had people been awake, all they would have seen was the magic obviously on her, crackling around her.

The air nearby smelled - tasted - like ozone. Hermione marched up the stairs to her dorm, pulled out each and every one of her schoolbooks, and put them in her backpack. She also found her other shoe and put both shoes one, tying them properly. Then she marched to the library, finding books on basic wards. In the next hour and a half, she would read as much as possible, then ward her bed, trunk, and back pack.

The bed and trunk where easy - she just connected them to a bucket of magic glue - it covered as much area as possible and dried almost immediately to cement. In other words, if anyone other than her touched the bed or trunk, they'd be covered with cement.

The backpack... how do you ward a moving object? Hermione didn't know.

She just hoped no one tried to destroy it or something. Then, at 6:59 precisely, Hermione walked out of the common room and to breakfast.

She received a shock. She had expected the Great Hall to be empty. Who was insane enough to be up this early? (She had stayed up the whole night; it didn't count). Instead, at the Hufflepuff table, was a raven-haired boy with a pony-tail, and a seventh year with lemony spikes and gleaming pink(!) eyes.

The boy nodded at her, then at the seventh-year, and then walked over to talk to her.

A Slytherin. Wait, that didn't make sense. She needed more sleep. A lot more sleep. Hermione tried to rephrase that thought.

She was a SLYTHERIN. He was HUFFLEPUFF. Every book she read had explained that those two did NOT interact.

Then she recognized the boy - Harry Potter, the only who was split between the houses. He went and sat down across from her.

"I'm Harry."

"Hermione."

"Pleasure. Hermione, what do you think Hogwarts needs more of?"

"Clocks. There was one or two, but they need more, preferably one in every hallway. I have my own personal watch, but we really need more. And some hallways are full of paintings, while others have one or two. It's most... confusing."

"Excellent."

And the boy left, whistling. Hhm. Well, he was not her problem. Hermione concentrated on food. Oh! Scones! Thank god.

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Running to the Astronomy Tower (thank you Ingress for the instructions) Harry knelt at the top of the tallest room in the tallest tower.

What very few people realized was that Hogwarts was sentient. She just preferred to sleep... but now, she was wide awake, when talking students didn't give her a headache and she could watch the sunrise.

Hail, Hogwarts. I am Dubhshlain. Have you heard your Student's request?

Yea. I did.

Sorting Hat?

Yea. On some level, we art the same. I have heard the request, and it pleased me. For times and times, my apprentices have pleaded for pleasantries. Simpler studies or such. This young one, mayhap, knows to think. I shall move my ways and ups and downs. Within three sundowns, the portraits will be spread equally and everywhere between me.

But these clocks... will thee supply them?

Um. Yes, I'll make sure that there are clocks... if I just hang them up randomly, will you make sure they're spread equally around you?

Yea. Thy legs must fly - your soul-sister misses you. The masters come to give schedules to the apprentices.

Harry Potter ran to the Great Hall, where Ingress sighed in relief.

"Watcher, Harry. What did you just do? Sprout's been wondering where you are! Everyone's eating by now, and she gave me your schedule to give to you. Here, by the way."

Harry glanced at the paper, nodding and stuffing it into his bag with his books.

"Thanks. I was talking to Hogwarts. Don't ask. So, anything new?"

"Yeah. Neville's gran answered to me and to him. He's getting his new wand. Hey, look at that!"

That turned out to be a girl - werewolf, Dubhshain supplied - and Draco Malfoy arguing passionately about... nothing at all. They were just throwing insults at each other.

"Mangy wolf!"

"Prissy Pureblood!"

"Uneducated Peasant!"

"Oi! What'cha want with Draco?" And that was Ronald, stepping into the discussion.

"You flee-bitten pancake! Why are you arguing with my friend?" Hermione stepped in, making the air around them taste sharply like ozone. Melinda stepped back.

"You're defending him? But he's - he's -"

"A friend!"

"A racist pureblood!"

"No, he isn't! Has he passed any laws? NO! His DAD did! Don't throw the sins of the father onto the son! Besides, if you're judging by his blood, then you're a racist coward who can't see past her own stupid, short-sighted beliefs and isn't brave enough to see otherwise! You're NOTHING!"

And with that, Hermione turned around and dragged Draco and Ron to the Ravenclaw table to sit and eat.

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A week later, two things happened:

First, clocks arrived from Door and Richard. Suddenly, there were a lot fewer people who were late to class.

Secondly...

In Diagon Ally there was a bank. Gringotts, to be precise. And it was run by goblins.

In the bank, two things happened. One, the bank received two long essays. One of the essays explained what a credit card was and how it was used in the Muggle World and how they could introduce it to the wizarding world... the full wizarding world. Not just Britain, but the enclave in France and Belgium and Switzerland as well. Gringotts made note of it.

The second essay explained the stock market, and the difference between capitalism and communism and what it meant to buy a business or to share stocks. And how these things worked in the Muggle World.

This essay set Gringotts whispering and wondering, and they began trying to use these ideas.

Meanwhile, Ted Tonks smirked. For the last several years, very little actual progress had been made. Old laws were discussed... but progress halted. So instead of changing politics, Mr. Tonks decided to play with economics. Lets see how these things worked when old purebloods were able to invest in the Muggle world! HA!

Over the last week, he had...

He had already sold a few pens to Flourish & Bolts - and told them about Staples.

Shown Madam Malkin and a few other stores some fashion magazines. And told them about Victoria's Secret.

Introduced simple Beer and grape juice and apple juice to plenty of restaurants. And shown them red wine.

All three events had been shown - via Pensive - to the Daily Prophet reporters.

He really wanted to see how long this world lasted before it fell apart.

But meanwhile, Gringotts shuddered. Here was the second thing that happened: in a certain vault, a certain cup shuddered. Hufflepuff's cup shook as a black wisp pulled itself out of the golden figure and flew to join the larger part of its soul. Voldemort had suddenly gained some strength and sanity... but not enough to question why.

The wards shivered a bit, then began running off of the natural magic that people gave off.

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"Calling all werewolves in order!" The student glanced around. There were maybe forty students in attendance to the WWW club - Weres and Witches and Wizards. Only weres joined.

That was the point though. The students gathered together to set a few things clear: there was a lot of hate towards them, but that doesn't mean they could ruffle some feathers. They could not afford to get the humans angry, not when things were settling down.

Also, learn Occlumency. Now.

Lastly, the most important: Date and Marry whomever you wish. Being a were-wolf was not genetic, so your children would not be wolves unless bitten. So it didn't matter - so long as the fellow treated you well, go ahead.

Melinda flushed, and Phagh-Raht turned to her.

"What is it?" He asked.

"I sort-a already argued with Draco Malfoy." Melinda looked at the ground, refusing to meet the alpha's eyes. Phagh-Raht breathed in and out, calming himself.

"I don't have time for petty rivalries. Apologize, and ignore him. Prove you're better by being better. Be the best you can be in as many classes as possible and do well in the training rooms and that's it. When you're better than him, then you have the right to argue. Now, relax and close your eyes. Focus on one thing: A shield. We gotta get your Occlumency in shape ASAP!"

From that day forward, Melinda studiously ignored Draco Malfoy. Draco ignored her right back.

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Within the first week, Harry Potter was ranked with the fourth years. He was below average, but that didn't matter. He was in FOURTH YEAR in the training room, and far above average in his other classes. Too far ahead for the comfort of any classes.

Combined with his faint scar... well, Dumbledore worried. Had the backlash of Tom's Avada Kedavra affected Harry Potter? Perhaps transferred some of Tom's powers over to him...

But then again, Hermione Granger was in second year on the scoreboard by the end of the week. On the other hand, scans revealed that she got an average of five hours of sleep a week, and Harry Potter had gotten a good eight hours every night.

However, she was also very hard ahead of her year-mates. Dumbledore shook off his internal musings and glanced at the scoreboard again.

Draco and Ronald were fighting with each other for third spot, both in school and training. Oddly enough, Neville Longbottom, after getting his wand, was firmly in fourth (fifth?) place, with the rest of the students changing position with every bout of training.

Or not so oddly - the paintings reported that those four students (Hermione, Draco, Ronald, and Neville) studied together and were fast friends. It was an odd friendship, with one member from each house.

But rather frighteningly, Harry Potter was not part of this group friends - or any group of friends, for that matter. He seemed to be spending time with dear Nymphadora, or writing letters home.

It was rather sad, that such a bright young man was so lonely... or maybe, this was more proof of Tom affecting Harry?

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Every morning, Dubshlain asked the same question:

Hogwarts, who needs my help the most?

This morning, Hogwarts answered with a name, not a My Apprentices can make their own mistakes. Today, Hogwarts hesitated, and then, whispered quietly into Harry's ear:

Blaise Zabini.

Another question that was asked each morning: Who is the biggest threat to the students?

Professor Quirinius Quirrell, Hogwarts answered, where before she had hissed angrily that she could take care of her apprentices.

Explain both problems?

Zabini needs to kill someone. Quirrell wishes to gain the Philosopher's Stone and would kill people to get it. As a matter of fact, he plans to hold you hostage and demand Dumbledore hand it over or he slits your throat.

Well, Zabini killing him would certainly solve both problems.

Yea; that death at the hands of the boy would save both worlds. But I suggest waiting until Hallowe'en, or Samhaim. The old gods like sacrifices at that time.

And so Harry Potter smiled thinly.

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"Zabini!" Harry called out, grabbing Blaise and pulling him into a classroom before the boy had time to blink. He was going to the library, as lunch was generally too loud for a boy used to quiet.

"P-Potter?" The Italian accent made his name sound exotic. It was irritating, Harry decided.

"Just Harry, please. Now, Zabini - "

"Blaise. If you're Harry, then I am Blaise, no?"

"Um. Alright? But listen: Dumbledore said that we can't go to the Third Floor Corridor. Right? Why? Because he's keeping something there. Why on pain of death? Because it's trapped, so someone wants it. That means, when a big fat diversion walks into Hogwarts, the two of us gotta check out the third floor corridor to see who wants whatever it is that the Headmaster's hiding!"

... Blaise's thought process stopped for a bit. That made no sense. This whole thing was crazy and made no sense. But... well... Harry Potter looked very determined, and at the very least it gave him...

Well. A target, certainly. It gave him a target. Now, he had just one question.

"Sî. But why me?"

"Because you walk like you know how to kill, so your low score on the training scoreboard has to be just a tactic to get others to underestimate you. You're like me. You know how to fight and you're lonely. So, meet you at the third floor when a diversion comes!"

And Harry spun, running out the door. Blaise didn't speak to him until Halloween. But he kept his knives sharp and prayed for the gods to bless Harry Potter for giving him a target who wasn't an innocent child but a criminal.

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"Troll! In the dungeons! Thought you ought to know..."
The DADA professor fainted. Blaise looked up a caught Harry's eye.

Blaise had decided that, if the person was trained, he had better be trained too. He was now clawing for second place with Hermione Granger, both deep into second year. Harry Potter was on top... of the fourth years.

Now Neville, Ronald, and Draco were the next after Blaise and Hermione, all three switching places every time they trained (which was often), but never letting anyone get close. It wasn't even talent or power - it was plain old hard work.

Harry Potter stood up and slipped away from the Hufflepuffs in the rioting, and the two boys walked silently to the Third Floor corridor.

They hid in the shadows, wands pointed at the door. Blaise fingered his wand. It took a few minutes, during which point both children were silent as the grave.

But they weren't children. If anyone was looking at them, they would not have seen children. They may have seen predators - eyes bright, muscles tense, teeth bared. Ready to pounce.

Or, they may have seen soldiers - still and silent and alert, far too alert, waiting for orders and aiming their guns.

Someone may have seen automatons - they were stiff, unmoving, unblinking. Their positions, crouching, was all angles. Robots.

But no one would have said they were children.

A man jogged into view. Quirrell. His wand was out. The man paused, hesitating, then reached for the door.

Zabini didn't wait.

A knife flew and buried itself in the side of Quirrell's neck. Blaise ran over to the man, sliding another knife into his heart. Then, he pulled out a piece of parchment, dipped his quill into the blood, and wrote:

Dearest Family,

I'm writing with the Blood of a man I've killed - Quirinus Quirrell.

-Blaise Zabini.

Zabini stuffed the parchment and quill and knives into his pocket, taking the time to clean the knives. Then, with a start, he turned around, to see Harry smiling.

"Do not worry. I shall not tell anyone except those who won't harm you or your family. You did a good job, Blaise - it was a quick death. Let's clear out?"

As the two boys disappeared, one to his common room and one to send his mother a letter, the body grew cold. After a little while, Severus Snape ran into the corridor, gasping in shock.

The DADA professor lay dead, and he had not even entered the corridor to see Dumbledore's traps.

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The rest of the year passed simply and silently. Mad-Eye Moody was the new DADA teacher, and on Christmas, Harry Potter got a note about an invisibility cloak, and an actual cloak. Remus and Sirius sent him letters explaining that Dumbledore had the cloak and that he promised them both to give their godson that cloak for Christmas.

He also got a lot of amusing knickknacks, sweaters, and pens. Sweets. And he had sent Blaise a quill that was far to long and sharp, and far too easy to throw.

Ted Tonks, Andromeda, and Sirius visited Hogwarts. The made a Study Hall - a hallway where separate classrooms were made into libraries with books for one subject in particular.

And America had books like Transfiguartion & Physics, Charms & Physics, Potions & Chemistry, Leglimency & Occlumency & Psychology, Herbology & Botany, Care of Magical Creatures & Biology, ... the list went on. So the different rooms had textbooks and textbooks, explaining Muggle sciences and Wizarding magic together.

Those classrooms became very popular, because when they explained quiet a lot of supposedly "unexplainable" phenomenons.

And thus, the rest of the year passed.

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In Malfoy Manor, a diary shuddered, and its pages fell apart. Once the magic holding it together was gone, the diary was just a pack of fifty-year-old parchment. The soul piece flew to join its master.

As soon as the wards began sucking on only Malfoy, his magic drained. The man died in his sleep, at night, and Draco was inconsolable. Neville was the greatest help, and Draco spent the rest of the summer staying over at his friends' houses, one at a time.

It made the four of them closer to each other.

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Lord Voldemort, Tom Riddle J.R., Dark Lord and Ruler-of-Wizarding-Britain-To-Be, frowned. He had taken over Lockhart, and the man was... to put it simply, he was an idiot.

But his power levels had increased greatly. He was feeling better, better than he had since... since he had created his horcruxes.

Why?

What are you? Are you in my head? Oh, are you some lost soul, in need of help? Worry not! I, the Great Gilderoy, will help you with anything! After all, I got rid of a Banshee, and I...

The incessant man chattered on to him. Voldemort reached out and shoved the soul out of the body unceremoniously. And just like that, Gilderoy Lockhart was dead.

The young body was his.

He was going to be a Hogwarts teacher. First thing first: While being a Hogwarts teacher, he needed to check on the political going-ons and such and the fastest ways to gain power.

After all, last time, it was easiest to gain power by being a Dark Lord. Now, however, he was immortal - perhaps he would gain power by being Minister of Magic? At any rate, he needed to catch up on the news.

Thinking quickly, Tom Riddle made Gilderoy Lockhart's body write a letter to Dumbledore, explaining that he had changed his mind - he would still be a teacher of DADA, but he would use a different book.

A good book. One that Tom Riddle had planned to use when teaching the students fifty years before... not that Dumbledore knew this.

Then, Mr. Lockhart summoned a Hogwarts Elf - being a teacher, he was able to simply ask for one. He requested a copy of every single Daily Prophet that had come out since Hallowe'en eleven years before. After all, Harry James Potter was now twelve.

Voldemort had a lot of research to do, about how the world had changed and why was he suddenly feeling so much better, so much more powerful... the Daily Prophet was just a starting point.

...

Why were they calling his nemesis the "Boy-Who-Lived"?

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Door and Richard stared at the boy in front of them.

"...So then Blaise threw his knife, mafia style, like in the cinema, and Quirrell started falling, and Blaise just pounces on him and pushes a knife into his heart! It was SO cool! And then he wrote something down and we both left, and that was it. I think Flamel has his stone back. But the best part is, Mad-Eye Moody taught us for the rest of the year! It was epic. He is the god of fighting! And..."

"Alright. Let me sum it up: You killed an evil teacher with your best friend who's a Mafia member and your next teacher is really great."

"Yes, Dad, but that's boring."

"Lovely. Um, your mother's pregnant."

"RICHARD! YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDN'T TELL ANYONE!"

"Oi! Appoline and Fleur and Tonks and Remus and Andromeda and Ted found out last night; they were going to tell him anyway!"

"Richard Mayhew, you -"

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Harry broke in. It was best to distract his parents early. Apparently, they had gotten married, which in Below consisted of going to the blacksmith and getting matching rings. Their rings were dark, reddish gold with pale blue swirls. Really, it wasn't too big of a deal - they acted like they were married for years.

"We don't know yet." Door smiled happily.

"Ok. Hey, are you going to tell me how babies are made now?"

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Blaise Zabini looked around the room happily.

His Famiglia - his Family! - was spread around the room, with people lounging on armchairs and couches, and getting champagne. Every few minutes, people would come up to welcome him and give a gift. So far, he was the youngest person in a century to have entered into the family. But he couldn't relax - he had half an hour left. It was almost time to tell his story.

"We welcome Blaise into the Zabini family. Come and tell of your first kill."

"My first target was the DADA teacher, Professor Quirrell. There is a curse on the school, no one can last more than a year of teaching. So I wanted to do it on the last day, after exams - I'd stay behind to ask a question, and that's it."

That wasn't it. Blaise had only thought of it on the way home, it make it look like he hadn't depended on Harry Potter.

"But then, after a week of school, Potter asked to speak with me - he told me that there was something hidden in the Third Floor Corridor, as I had written to you about. He told me that when a distraction was to go into Hogwarts, we were to go and defend the corridor."

Blaise took a breath. Some of his family looked unconcerned, others looked like they were taking notes. But each and every one of them was listening.

"On Samhaim, All Hallow's Eve, a troll wandered it. We went to the Third Floor. Quirrell walked into the corridor, his wand pointed at the door. I threw my knife into his neck, ran over and slid another into his heart. I wrote the Blood-Letter then and there, cleaned my knives, and forced Potter not to tell anyone that may harm me or my family. Then we ran."

Quick, succinct, to the point.

His mother smiled, walked up the podium, kissed his forehead, and slid a knife into his hands.

"I suggest that my son offer this Potter his services. After all, Blaise needs to get used to killing, and clearly this Potter has targets at disposal. Not to mention, he is heir to a large family - we can request payment."

Blaise grinned wolfishly. He had liked the feeling of blood in his hands - after all; it was in his Magic, in his Blood, in his nature and what he was raised to do. To get paid for it? How wonderful. Not to mention, he knew Harry Potter - the two were as close to being friends as Zabini was allowed to be.

This was absolutely wonderful.