Harry Potter grinned at Fleur Delacour. She was dressed in a skintight dark grey shirt, dark grey rights, a black mid-thigh skirt, and lace-up sandals. Her hair was in a tight bun, but a few strands escaped. She was stone-faced, standing in a dueling position - tense, about to pounce at him, her wand arm pulled into a fist at her side to punch him... but holding her wand, meaning that she could shoot a spell as well.

She was also taking stock of him.

The 'Leetle Boy' she knew had grown up well. He had shot up in height, his hair in a loose ponytail at the base of his neck. His green eyes narrowed with his glasses charmed to stay on his face - it was too complex for her to get the glasses off his face in mid-fight. He was slightly crouched, poised to explode forwards and into her face - but it's an easy position to dodge from. His wand was strapped to his wrist. It was harder to aim that way, but it was hard enough to aim if someone was moving anyway. Her eyes were better, and her aim was slightly better.

Not to mention, she had gotten her Mother and Andromeda to change Beaxbatons the way they changed Hogwarts. There were no houses in her school, but the ice-skating rink and the pool were both popular, and the training rooms were a big hit. Flour, of course, was far ahead of her fellows. The French and the British had both gotten an increase in Aurors.

"Three... Two... One... Fight!" Remus jumped out of the rink, Moony howling for him to run, run, run, run, run. This was a battle between Fae. Moony informed him that he needed to go NOW.

When Remus was far away enough, he glanced behind him. There was dust and flashes of light and screams and spells and blood already spattered the floor around the rink. Remus walked out of the room. He'd come in later, to see what was left of them. In the meantime, he was entering Auror school with Tonks. Any questions about his age would be answered with a scowl and the mention of Sirius' prankster ways.

And right now, he was taking Nymphadora Ingress Tonks on a date. That was more important than the potential death of one of his students at the hands of the other.

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Voldemort blinked slowly, putting down the Daily Prophet.

First of all, half way through these eleven years everything changes. There was no cause. But suddenly, he didn't have to sift though propaganda. Every question had a page explaining every answer with quotes.

Why? It certainly wouldn't help him if he started pushing towards hate. Not to mention, this Ted Tonks was too big of a figure - if he were killed, there wouldn't be fear, there would be indication. The man would be martyred.

Also, Werewolves were now at Hogwarts, and the Prophet explained how werewolf attacks had lessened greatly since they had gotten these portkeys that send them to some forest. Or maybe it was just that werewolves now learned Occlumency in Hogwarts... twice as much as regular students. (Regular students learning Occlumency?) And the Prophet had written that these policies had spilt over to France.

How strange. It seamed that in order to gain power, he simply had to be moderate. Gain both sides, not radicalize a small minority to run over the entire country.

Alright, he could do that. He was manipulative, and knew the atmosphere. He'd teach at Hogwarts for a year, see how the atmosphere worked. After all, a lot could change in eleven years.

But it was still Wizarding Britain, the world that had sized and swallowed him and kept him safe since he was eleven. He would find his place here, like he always had.

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Neville Longbottom gaped at his grandmother.

"We... what?"

"Chin up, Neville! It is currently a Politically good move. We'll have this girl stay over for a bit. She'll show everyone that being pureblood isn't being dirt. It's what your parents would have wanted."

"But Gran, Draco's told me about her. And he's not prejudiced- he talks to lot of other weres and muggle-borns. By the way, they're calling them First Generations, or First Gens' right now. But Melinda Brendiv's a jerk and a mean person! She's arrogant and - and! Why can't we have Timothy Smith stay over?"

"Because Timothy Smith has too low of an average. You know that only the top few children were invited to stay over for this week, but only Melinda agreed."

"Because her Mom's sick and she's got nowhere to stay. She HATES us!"

"I'm sure that's not how it is. She and you probably got off at the wrong foot."

The fireplace turned green, and the girl stepped back. She was wearing a pair of ripped skinny jeans, with a soft beaded beige poncho and a backpack. Her hair was in a loose braid.

"Excuse me, this Longbottom mansion, right? I am Melinda Brendiv, and it's a pleasure - It's YOU!" The girl turned bright red with anger, pointing a finger at Neville.

"You're that kid who sucks up to that Malfoy shit!"

"And you're a racist prick! Don't call my friends that word! Malfoy hangs out with Timothy Smith and Hermione who's a First Gen Witch! You're just angry cuz you're PMSing ALL THE TIME!"

"No, I just see into his filthy little brain! He's brainwashed you all into believing his lies and you're all under his control-"

"You're such an idiot! You know nothing!"

"CHILDREN. Neville, to your room. Twinkly," a house elf appeared, "Please show Melinda to the second - no, third - guest room. Then, please give her a few books about the Holocaust and German families who fought against it - as a matter of fact, let's start with Number the Stars and Book Thief. Melinda, I hope you understand that not everyone accepted the full Nazi Propaganda, and that I trust my son's choice of friends. If you start an argument with him again, I will kick you out."

Dowager Longbottom swept out of the room after Neville, and Twinkly took Melinda to her room before bringing the books to her. With nothing to do, Melinda began to read.

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Ted Tonks laughed.

Muggle Books included in the Hogwarts Library? Oh, that's too good. A whole new room was added (by breaking down a wall into an un-used classroom). Sci-fi, fiction, Historical Fiction, Muggle History.

He grinned at his wife. It was rather funny, but a side effect of this wasn't just pureblood accepting muggleborns and having more connections to the new members of the community, but also muggleborns learning about pure-blood culture because of the increased interactions.

But really, everything was (almost) perfect. His daughter was in love with a wonderful young man, and they were both in school. He had a good amount of money. Really, all he needed was a good candidate to take over in the direction he was going in - he wanted the Wizarding world to be slightly more connected to London Above, and he was too old to fight politically. A few months, and he was going to resign and babysit Door's baby.

And sleep.

Boy, he wanted to sleep.

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Sirius jumped out of the way. Amelia Bones with a wand is a dangerous being indeed - she even gave Voldemort a run for his money (Literally. In a duel, he apparated away).

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"

"I want to restart what happened eleven years ago?"

"YOU WANT TO START ANOTHER WAR?!"

"NO! I don't - my dog, you're so DMLE, you lost the fun Amelia! I was asking you out!"

"Ah. Well, Sirius Black, I'm not as easy as I was back then." She leaned forward.

"Woo me."

Then, Amelia Bones walked out, leaving Sirius Black gaping at her. My god, re-learning to be an auror was easier than this... and he was doing both. At least Voldemort hadn't shown his stinky face yet.

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In the Room of Requirement, a small diadem shuddered. It had been single-crown-edly been holding up all of Hogwart's wards, but the magic of the Horcrux had run out, and only Rowena's magic was left. The soul shard was shoved out of the tiara and immediately flew to join the original piece, locked away in some body.

The original had a body.

The soul piece flew into the nearest thing - a snake. The soul still spoke to them, and animals didn't really have souls, per se. It was easy to push the snake's anima out of the body and take it's place.

Then the snake hissed.

"Greetings, Master. I have left the Diadem and joined you in your familiar's body. Nagini was her name; you can call me anything and everything, Master."

That changed things. Voldemort blinked. This was his Horcrux... oh. Had all the other horcruxes left their containers? Why? Where were they? Was that connected to why he felt better?

...

Oh.

So, the other horcruxes had become part of him - which explained why he was feeling better. Under his occlumency shields, Voldemort examined himself. He'd assumed that some his horcruxes returned... let's see, the diary, the cup... the diary... HHm... so, the locket and ring were either destroyed or safe. First thing first: Check on them.

He apparated to the cave and didn't bother going any further. It had been filled with fire - see the charr marks, the smoke and black dust still settling. After a minute of breathing in and sensing the magic, Voldemort was calm and knew, for certain, that Dumbledore was involved.

Which meant Potter was involved.

Which also meant that they were actively hunting him - Dumbledore did not understand power-lust, only wander-lust, and really, a few human lives were nothing. What did that muggle scientist say? Survival of the fittest. He was the fittest.

At any rate, Dumbledore was not going to stop until he was dead. He was definitely involving Potter. And while he understood Dumbledore, he had not clue of how Potter worked; what made him tick.

And he was clearly not the average Hufflepuff - the Prophet had explained that he was almost a Slytherin.

Well, he had a year to figure out his enemies without them figuring out it's him.

First thing first: Have them all take him seriously. So...

Lockhart grew his hair, putting it in a pony-tail. It reached his mid-back, and without the curlers, it was just barely wavily. The ponytail made him look more serious. Darkening his eyebrows, stop dying his hair, and his hair was less gold, and more golden-brown. The eyebrows were a darker eyebrows, and boom! Put on a button-down shirt, pressed pants, and a simple dark green robe, and he was a ready-made poster boy. Smart and serious, not a pretty boy.

This would made Cornelius take him seriously.

And really, young boys liked dashing young men who were good with a wand better than they liked old grandfathers. So maybe he'd get Potter to support him as well; the Boy-Who-Lived was a good political figure.

And Immortal Minister of Magic Riddle was a good title for him. After that, he'd merge the French and British ministry, rule them both, then take Bulgaria and Russia. Italy next - the Mafia was powerful; but he'd just buy them off. After that, India - both Magic and Muggle, and then magic China and Japan, and against that, magic America really cannot stand. From there, the American muggle government would crumble because the two were interconnected, and from there he'd take the muggle British and French people, then muggle Bulgaria, India was taken already by then, but muggle China would be hard - he'd take muggle Japan first, then muggle China and Russia.

Whoever stood against him would be quietly killed. Wasn't that what the Mafia was for? And if the Zabini family was still in business, then he'd just have one of them tail after Potter. Forever. So that the Boy-Who-Lived cannot move against him.

As a matter of fact, why not write to the Zabinis right now? He'd negotiate a meeting with one of them.

Dear Zabini Famiglia,

This is Riddle. They knew who that was from the last war. I'd like one of you to follow Harry Potter, and be prepared to kill him at a moment's notice. In return for this, I'm prepared to give 300 Galleons per - How much money did he have? Well, Tom Riddle J.R. had quite a lot, but how much did Gilderoy Lockhart have? He'd have to check. Time to start writing a new letter to Gringotts.

Dear Gringotts.

This is Lockhart. The name was written in his blood, so the goblins could check. I'd like to ask for my account balance. Also, per the Old Traditions, if I defeat the personal protections that Tom Riddle placed on his vault, then I have full right to everything within the vault. I'd like to try to defeat the vault tomorrow, whenever it is convent to you.

-Lockhart

Gilderoy-Tom-Lockhart-Riddle sent the letter to Gringotts.

Two hours later, he had a letter from Gringotts- he could come at 3:00 tomorrow. His vault had a few thousand Galleons.

Riddle pulled out his letter to the Zabini Famiglia and continued writing.

Dear Zabini Famiglia,

This is Riddle. I'd like one of you to follow Harry Potter, and be prepared to kill him at a moment's notice. In return for this, I'm prepared to give 300 Galleons every three weeks, transferred to your Gringotts account. I'd like Potter to be shadowed while at school and during the summer, and his every move reported to me.

The assassination is very likely to happen, but I would request to make it look natural.

Riddle hesitated, then added one more line.

I would like Dumbledore to die on Halloween. For this, I offer 1000 Galleons. The death can be in any way; I care not.

-Riddle

Tom sent the Zabini family the letter.

A few hours later, he woke up to find a knife pressed to his neck. A beautiful woman was above him, his hands handcuffed together and to the bedpost behind his head. Her black hair shown, her creamy olive skin was flush against his.

Fuck.

He had forgotten human impulses, and her red lips whispered against his left ear and he wanted to kiss her because he could sense her magic and it pulled him and she was smart to figure out where he was, and capable because the Famiglia trusted her, and she managed to put a knife to his throat and she was beautiful.

Her lips moved, and a beautiful, slightly hoarse voice hissed one word.

"Yes."

And then she was gone, and the knife and handcuffs had disappeared with her. Tom Marvolo Riddle decided that he either needed to sacrifice his body's desires for power, like he had done in his previous body, or he needed to start controlling those desires.

He didn't really need power - he had his own power combined with Gilderoy Lockhart's power.

And desires could be very useful - he had a beautiful body, and seduction was hard to do without some natural instinct.

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And old man, looking at maps and a few chessboards with white, black, and some random red pieces, received a letter.

Dear Zabini Famiglia,

This is Riddle. I'd like one of you to follow Harry Potter, and be prepared to kill him at a moment's notice. In return for this, I'm prepared to give 300 Galleons every three weeks, transferred to your Gringotts account. I'd like Potter to be shadowed while at school and during the summer, and his every move reported to me.

The assassination is very likely to happen, but I would request to make it look natural.

I would like Dumbledore to die on Halloween. For this, I offer 1000 Galleons. The death can be in any way; I care not.

-Riddle

Dumbledore could be gotten rid of easily. Give Blaise a gun and feed Dumbledore power-dampening potions (meant for children with accidental power problems) starting several weeks before. It was simple - dip those lemon drops into the potions and they're done.

But Blaise liked the Potter boy. Not romantically - that was forbidden; a Zabini may not love except when the love was returned stronger than it was given and the lover was under oath to be loyal to the Famiglia. Besides, the boys were twelve. What sort of attraction was there before teenager-hood?

And yet, Blaise was friends with the Potter boy. Good friends. Well, he could simply have Blaise tail the boy. His mother - Lacole Zabini - could assassinate him.

The old man smiled grimly. It was strange that Lacole meant Victory for (the) People; or Victorious People.

She was the best they had seen for a while. So far, her son had shown the same potential - but forcing a boy to kill his friend (if it came to that) was a bit hard.

He smiled, and called to Lacole Zabini.

When she came, he showed her the letter and watched her lips slip into a slow smile.

"I'll tell him yes. It'll be easy for Blaise to tail Potter, after all, they're friends. And... as for the Dumbledore problem... I'd like to take care of it. Blaise will get me into Hogwarts by getting hurt and asking for his mother. I'll use a gun, it's too fast for magic to block, but just in case, I'll get him to drink some magic-dulling potions before hand. We'll slip them into his lemon drops... I'll take care of it."

"Yes, you do that. But we'll need someone else to kill Potter if it comes to that. Blaise can't do that -"

"His half brother, Fabrizio, can take care of Potter. He's shadowing the Brendiv matriarch, courtesy of Lord Black, in case she starts a revolution. She'd die, looking like she was ripped apart by other weres. But if Brendiv actually needs to die, she'd do it long before Potter needs to die. So Fabrizio will kill the were-matriarch, then take care of the little boy. And Blaise won't need to do anything except slip Dumbledore some potions."

"Of course, Lacole. You're my favorite granddaughter; go ahead and make the family proud."

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Diana Brendiv looked at the weres gathered around her. Some of them were nodding and listening to her words. She continued.

"Greyback was found dead with a hole in his throat. And now, once a month, we're all sent to a single place. One little forest in a concentrated force... surrounded by silver."

"It's a HUGE forest. Of course it's surrounded by silver! And things are better than ever! Our children are going to Hogwarts, are we really going to ruin this?!"

"It's not going to last! I don't want to be pinned in a single spot. Whoever took down Greyback..."

"It was Hunter."

That last voice was quiet, hissed.

The room was old, dusty, an attic with a few cushions to sit on. In a corner, a man leaned against the wall. He was in his mid-forties, his grey-black hair and short beard making him older. His gleaming eyes, bright yellow, proved that his wolf and him were close, nearly one. This was rare, and made him Alpha among these other Alphas of the pack.

Not to mention, he was learned - street-smart in all of Ireland, most of England.
And London.

He spoke of London with a sort of dazed love, the way that man had never spoke of woman. He spoke of the smoke and gray and fog as if it was a woman's kiss. He whispered of the gothic buildings like a fiery embrace, coming and taking him.

He whispered about Time, about the hidden pockets of wonder and the sloping hills covered in both grass and cement.

But he didn't speak of it as a human city, as a place of opportunity. He spoke of it like history, like a lover, and the others forgave him because he had helped the wolves escape from Aurors and from Death Eaters in the War, and he hid them well. He was powerful and strong and his mind was keen, and he dreamed of a city that smelled of the fire of 1666, September 2nd to 5th.

"It was Hunter", the man repeated, his voice wonder and awe and longing. The way one referred to a father and to Cicero and to their Alpha. Their Lord and Master and their General.

"Greyback had infringed on the Hunter's territory. And... this is Hunter protecting his territory. We don't go Wizarding lands. We go to a place that smells of Time; and that is the Hunter's territory. We are his people. We are the wolves of the Alpha of History."

"How do you know?" Diana Brendiv wasn't giving easily.

"Dear Diana. Greyback's cadavar smelled of time, the forest we go to smells of time, and this Hunter killed the Great Beast of London."

There was a hiss, as everyone gasped. The Great Beast wasn't seen - but it another animal, it's territory wide. Strong and big and smelling of dirt and anger and blood. Casual strength. Hunter had killed him... no one questioned the Old Wolf's knowledge.

"How do you smell time?" Diana Brendiv was young; barely twenty-seven. She had been taken young by a pureblood wizard, giving birth young, and had bitten her little girl gently, the wolf making her child her cub as well. But she was young, and alpha because of her passion, her charisma, not her experience. The other Alphas treated her like a child, a joke, a threat, a younger college. But she had yet to prove herself, and questioning the Old Wolf was not a good move.

"You have never been to London. Never seen the slips and turnes, the alleys, the beautiful Below, the - the fires and screams and armies and everything, the dancing of time, and the hope and strength, the stubbornness and refusal to give and the stiff anger, broiling and boiling and calm fighting against and for everything. London is everything, and it smells of Time. Time and smoke."

The Old Wolf slipped out of the room, and the others shuddered, because his scent wasn't his own - it was saturated with a spicy, dirty scent of blood and coal and roses. He smelled of Time; and compared to that, his own scent didn't even reach their noses.

He was frightening, and his eyes saw far too much, and they would die for that being who smelled of Time. Their wolves demanded it, and Diana Brendiv suddenly understood that she would die for him as well.

There would be no revolution... until the Old Wolf commanded it.

Diana stretched out to think and to take a nap.

...

and then, a young Italian beauty slipped out of the room's window to go home. He had to inform his mother that there was a bigger player than Diana Brendiv. The Old Wolf was frightening, and he spoke of London like a man in love.

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Harry Potter gaped. Fleur was beautiful. She danced. Instead of just fighting, she had spun out of the way, standing on her toes, twirling and bending into impossible positions as he could just twist out of the way of her spells.

Then again, her arm was twisted into a... wrong... angle. It was also awkwardly wrapped around her ribs.

Well, his legs burned when he moved. So she was brilliant at aiming as well.

Flour looked at Potter up and down. He was tense and quivering, and damn, he was good. And mad. He was wild when fighting, relying on carefully honed instinct.

It was fighting against a huge bird, one that flew in and out, going up and down, jumping over her and forcing her to spin out of the way - she was incorporating her dancing and ballet lessons just to stay alive. And this boy was only a few years younger than her.

Her Veela nature informed her that he would be perfect within two years. And she wanted him, damn it!

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A man knocked on the door.

Richard blinked, stood up, and called over his shoulder to Door that he'd get it. On the way to the door, he paused suddenly.

Potential threat. Several of them.

And Door was pregnant - not very able to fight.

Without thinking, Richard grabbed his spear, throwing it over his shoulder. Hunter's old knife was already in his belt. He had just been checking on the Fire of London (1666, September 2nd to 5th), and had somehow fallen into the London Blitz (September 7, 1940, to May 10 1941).

So his shirt was badly burned and he was covered in soot. He just walked into the kitchen to get some water when the knock came.

Holding the spear slightly tighter, Richard opened the door.

There was a young woman there, dirt streaked. Behind her, a young Italian was a little bit away, his eyes only on her.

"What do you want?" The door was fully opened, but Richard had stepped outside. The hallway was a bad place to fight, and this woman was spoiling for one.

"You're Hunter?"

"Yes. You're..." He looked at her poster, at her eyes. "You're an Alpha were-wolf. And you're unhappy with me."

"You're powerful. I dunno why; the fucking ministry won't make a single bloody mention of you, the muggle stuff lost you someplace a decade or so ago. Who the Bloody hell are you, and what are you doing?"

"I'm Richard. Richard Mayhew. Dick. But I don't care what people are doing. You wolves are in London; I gave you lot a place to stay. What's your problem?"

"I want to you to make sure the humans don't try and kill us."

"I don't play with human politics. Enjoy your life- I've just made it better."

Richard went back to his house, and Diana Brendiv stared at the door for a minute. Then she shrugged and went home. The Italian by the name of Fabrizio slipped the notebook back into his pocket where he had recorded the full conversation. Then he followed her.