Part One: Wisdom, Knowledge, and Experience

by Taliath

When Harry woke up, he felt like a new person. And in a way, he supposed he was. He could almost physically feel the fullness of his mind, he could sense the difference within the way he thought, processed information—and—and—

And he felt like he had finally opened his eyes. It was… simply unbelievable. The knowledge he possessed now—it felt as though he had gone from the mentality of a pre-schooler, just starting to learn the alphabet, to a graduating senior, knowing all about maths and science and history and—and everything!

Now even as Harry's eyes scanned Dumbledore's office, he felt a strange—not necessarily disturbing nor unpleasant, but strange—feeling wash over him as he recognised exactly what each tool and figurine on the shelves did what. It was odd, for a part of him had already touched them and had known of their existence for a long time, yet another part felt like he was just discovering their marvels. It was delightful. It was as though he were rediscovering things he had long forgotten.

The office no longer felt mysterious and odd, but rather it felt like he was home. He smiled with amusement when he saw his old Put-Outer, the one he had used long ago in Privet Drive. His old friend, the Sorting Hat, still sat where he was supposed to be. And the sword of Gryffindor was in a case just beyond the shelves, where he had left it after his encounter with the basilisk.

Harry simply couldn't help but sit back and remember all that happened in this office. It definitely gave him a headache when he recalled all those times when he and Dumbledore had been talking—for now he remembered the conversations from both perspectives!

And Dumbledore! The things he could do! The power that he held! And—here Harry couldn't help but exclaim again within his thoughts—the knowledge! It was incredible. The things the man could do with his wand were… simply beyond what Harry might have imagined possible.

And now, he could do them as well. Harry sat still, awe filling him. He was Harry Potter, yes, but he was now also Albus Dumbledore. It was… odd… to think of himself as so. It wasn't as if he thought of himself as two different entities—more, it was as if he were a separate one entirely from Albus and Harry; a third identity, a blend between the two.

Yet, at the heart of it—he realised with a start—he still considered himself as Harry, not as Albus Dumbledore. It was a startling revelation. For all that he had lived through the life of Albus Dumbledore, he was still Harry Potter.

A sudden smile stretched his lips and Harry thought within his mind, Tempus Explici. The spell answered with a chime, June 29th, 1997, 7:56 am.

Four days, thought Harry, his smile coming from the fact that he could now perform small bits of wandless magic. It's been four days since I started the spell. He didn't know if he felt shocked that it had taken so long, or concerned that he hadn't even noticed such a passage of time.

It's been a strange beginning of summer, thought Harry. It had started with Dumbledore's death—which Harry forced himself not to think about, as he could remember vividly the moment the Killing Curse struck from Dumbledore's perspective, the feeling of utter release that came with it, the cold feel of death's touch—enough!—then the early dismissal of students. On the heels of this had come an announcement declaring that Hogwarts would be shut down for "security purposes" and that there would be a "serious revision of the defences surrounding the school."

Harry snorted, and shook his head sadly. He now knew the castle better than anyone in this school, and he knew that Hogwarts—the sentient being that she was—would not tolerate the invasion by the Ministry of Magic. With his newfound knowledge, he would bet that the school would manage to turn away all Ministry personnel by the end of the week.

Then he froze. Today was the end of the week. The end of the first week of the summer break. Today was the day Professional McGonagall would come to check on him.

Harry relaxed himself slowly, and took a deep breath, before releasing it audibly. Well, all the better. He could already think of several things he would have to do before the end of the second week. In fact, the thought of the future opened a flood of ideas and memories, plans that Dumbledore had been thinking before he died, plans that Harry had been thinking before the Memoria Exsisto spell.

It had been the day after Dumbledore's funeral when this whole thing with the ritual of Memoria Exsisto had begun. Harry had been asked to visit Professor McGonagall in her old office—an apparent emergency requiring his presence immediately. He could still remember the stern-looking face of the Transfiguration Professor tight with worry, her lips pressed thin, as she had quickly directed him towards her office.

"Potter, quickly now, Professor Dumbledore wishes to see you," she had said urgently, pulling her wand out to light the Floo. "The Ministry has just announced that Hogwarts will close early for summer due to 'security purposes', and that the students will be sent home tomorrow. I will attempt to keep the knowledge that you are still here from reaching their ears."

Harry, wide-eyed, had stared incredulously at his teacher. Was she mad? Did she already forget the funeral they had just had the day before? As gently as he could, he had said, "Professor,—er, you do remember that Professor Dumbledore's dead—?"

Professor McGonagall had tsked impatiently. "I misspoke. I meant his portrait."

"Oh," Harry had replied. He had vaguely remembered seeing the man's sleeping form when he had last been in his office. "Erm. He wants to talk to me? Do you know what—?"

"No, Mr. Potter, I am not in the habit of asking him why he wishes to do anything," she had said tightly, her voice filled with irritation. Harry knew she was still raw over the fact that he had refused to reveal what he and Dumbledore had been doing that night of the man's murder. "But whatever it is, I hope you will do as he asks. More than just your own future rests in your hands. The fate, and future, of this school lies within it as well. The Board of Governors will be meeting tomorrow. I feel they will vote to shut Hogwarts forever. Whatever Professor Dumbledore has to offer, you must do it. Do you understand?"

"Wait—H-Hogwarts might be closed forever?" Harry had asked in disbelief. Though he would not be returning, he had still hoped that the school would continue to remain open.

Professor McGonagall had closed her eyes briefly with a show of weariness that he knew she would never have shown anyone else. "Yes. There is a very big likelihood of this fact. And even if it were to remain open, I fear Hogwarts—without Albus's power—will fall into the hands of the Ministry for their use and purposes. You recall Umbridge, I believe?" Harry had nodded. "That is what I fear will happen—and I would rather see Hogwarts closed forever than to see it in the hands of such politicians. So, Potter, I pray that Professor Dumbledore will have something to offer, some wisdom. Now, go. Quickly. Miss Tonks shall be taking your place for the moment—however, she will not be able to take your place at Privet Drive. All Aurors have been called to perform what the Ministry calls 'serious revision of the defences surrounding the school.'" It had been pretty obvious what the Transfiguration Professor thought of that, her usually strict voice thick with scorn. "She must not be missed."

"I understand, Professor," Harry had said slowly. "Do you know how long he'll want to talk to me?"

"I do not know—however, he has informed me not to allow any disturbances to intrude for a week." Professor McGonagall had twitched her wand, and a pot full of Floo powder had levitated off a shelf and had floated nearby Harry. "I have spelled the office to seclusion. It will hold at the moment, I believe. Food will be sent to you by the House Elves. Now, go. You are the Chosen One, and you hold our lives and our future in your hands. Go, Pot—Harry. Go with our hope, and may you succeed."

And so Harry had Flooed to the Headmaster's office, and he had been forced to choose between life and death—for if he had not done the Memoria Exsisto, it was a certainty that he would have died at the hands of Lord Voldemort.He had been indecisive for three days, mulling over the pros and the cons. He had thought, and thought, and thought until he thought his head would burst. After all, it required sacrifice on his part—to lose a part of himself, a large part of himself, forever. In gaining Dumbledore's memories, there was a large chance he would lose his. But he had finally decided.

He was not sorry, now, for what he had done. He finally felt true confidence bloom within him when he thought of the future. He had a chance, now. He had a very good chance.

He would not fail.

Harry's stomach grumbled loudly, forcing him to stand up and look for the plates of food the house-elves usually left out for him—but was disappointed to find none.

Then a grin crossed his face. He waved his wand lightly, effortlessly conjuring a meal for himself, and delighted in the odd mix of feelings that the movement had just created: the sense that his permanent conjuration—an art which only the most masterful in Transfiguration could accomplish—was both natural to him and new.

Harry wordlessly levitated the food and got onto his feet, amazed at the fact that he could so naturally and easily manipulate the platter of food to follow him, and moved over to the shelves housing some of Dumbledore's most prized possessions. They were Harry's now. His.

Grabbing a sandwich from the platter, Harry waved his wand gently, and conjured several crates while simultaneously packing away all his books and materials cluttering the office. Professor McGonagall would be using it now as Headmistress—if Hogwarts was to remain open, which he would ensure it would if the Board decided otherwise—and so he packed up everything that he remembered as belonging to Dumbledore. Chewing on his food, allowing his magic to pack things up, Harry moved over to his old desk, and smiled sadly as he touched the worn wooden Head's desk. He would miss it.

Then a small box caught his eye, and Harry grinned as he quickly opened it and found two items inside. The first was Dumbledore's half-moon glasses. Perfect, thought Harry as he pulled them out of their case. Harry tapped the glasses, and transfigured them into something a bit more fashionable, and more something his age would wear appearance-wise, and nodded at the result. Transfiguration sure was easy, now, with Dumbledore's knowledge. He quickly switched his old ones for Dumbledore's, and grinned with satisfaction. The old spells were still on the glasses.

For when Harry looked through them, he could now see magic. It was an heirloom in Dumbledore's family, he knew, and this was how Dumbledore had in the past seemed to have an uncanny ability to see through his Invisibility Cloak.

The glasses weren't quite as powerful as Moody's—it certainly couldn't see through walls or clothing—but it did pierce through nearly all Disillusionment Charms that Dumbledore had come across. And it was very useful for detecting magical spells laced into food or letters—sometimes even powerful magical poisons lighted up. It had saved Dumbledore's life several times.

The second item was much more important, and much more valuable. It was Dumbledore's wand. The sight of it brought back memories of Dumbledore's childhood, his obsessing over the wand the first few days after he had bought it. It made Harry crack a grin as he reached up and lifted it up again.

It was nowhere near the calibre of his first wand, since it wasn't quite as compatible with Harry as it was with Dumbledore—since technically, though he held all of Dumbledore's memories, he was still physically Harry Potter—but it was still a better fit than anyone else's wand he had ever tried.

Harry pocketed Dumbledore's wand, and waved his own wand once more, and the desk began to empty out mounds of parchments and files and folders. As more and more crates appeared, he was forced to approach the ones that were already full, and with several swishes and flicks, minimized their sizes and made them quite light in mass. A flick of his wand, and the miniaturized crates flew into Harry's pockets, and Harry turned back to the desk, satisfied with the results.

He repeated the process with the other crates when the desk was finally emptied out, and he sighed at last when the office was empty. He would sort through the crates later, when he found a place to stay.

When he turned to leave, disabling all the wards with a single motion of his wand, Harry paused when he saw the empty frame of Albus Dumbledore's portrait. That's right, he recalled, Dumbledore used the same spell to release himself. I remember. In fact, he could remember speaking the very words of the spell himself, could recall looking down at the moaning version of himself from his portrait.

This double perception is going to get confusing, thought Harry. It felt definitely odd to feel sorry for the death of a man who was also, in a way, himself—after all, Harry was Dumbledore now, and Dumbledore was Harry. Well, maybe not quite that. But almost.

That was when he felt the tickling feeling in the back of his mind, and he looked up at the door expectantly. "You may enter, Professor McGonagall," he called out.

The door swung open, revealing a wary Professor McGonagall, though she looked surprised to see that it had been Harry to bid her admission. "Mr. Potter, I see you are all right." She tinged her tone with a hint of question and Harry smiled kindly.

"Of course," he said pleasantly. "In fact, one could say I've never felt better."

The professor arched an eyebrow. "Is that so? Care to elaborate?"

Dumbledore's memories of Minerva McGonagall flashed through his mind, and Harry considered the professor before him. Dumbledore had known her for nearly seventy years, now. He had even been the one to ask her to teach after he had been elevated to the position of Headmaster—and in fact, she had only intended to stay for a single year, but had enjoyed teaching so much that she had remained. And most important of all, Minerva McGonagall had never in her entire life been untrustworthy. She had never revealed secrets that needed to be kept, and she never had any inclination of turning to the Dark.

He could trust her—at least, with the general information. He would not reveal all, for even she would not be able to keep his secrets if Lord Voldemort came demanding.

"Please sit, Professor," said Harry cordially, waving his wand to conjure two posh couches. He smiled at her incredulous look, and gestured for her to sit. "I will explain everything in just a moment. Tea?"

"I suppose, yes," she said slowly. He waved his wand, and a small table appeared, followed by a platter with two cups filled with tea. Her eyes narrowed, searching his face—then they widened. "No."

Harry met her gaze, and nodded pleasantly. "Yes, Professor."

"Dumbledore?"

"I prefer to be called Harry, thank you very much," replied Harry calmly. "Do drink up; you appear to be rather pale. Has something happened?"

Her eyes locked onto Harry's, she shakily reached for her cup and drank. "How?" she croaked out at last. "Memoria Exsisto?"

"As sharp as ever," chuckled Harry. He smiled when she sputtered with indignation and shook his head in a placating manner. "I remember it all, you see—even your childhood."

"I should assume so with the Memoria Exsisto," said Professor McGonagall coldly, though her hands trembled. "But… I would not have believed Dumbledore would ever ask this of you—"

"And he didn't want to," Harry gently cut in. "But really, what choice did he have? And really, what choice did I have? You have said so yourself—the fate of us all, and our future, rested on this." Harry relaxed, and took a sip of his tea. Delicious. "I am at peace with myself for this decision, as was Dumbledore in the end. Did you know that his last words before he joined the ritual were that he believed in me?" He shook his head sadly. "Dumbledore was a great man. A great man." A small smile crossed his lips. "Believe me, I would know."

Professor McGonagall was silent for a moment, and Harry took the time to study her. She was dressed in her usual robes, simple yet elegant, and her hair was in her usual tight bun. But there was something different about her, and he caught sight of it a moment later. She was more composed than she had been before he had done the ritual. She was more tranquil, perhaps even satisfied with something. Without even thinking, he looked into her eyes and reached out, and brushed across her mind with Legilimency.

Minerva was sitting within the Great Hall with a cold expression frozen on her face. The Hall had been structured in order to effectively convene the Board of Governors. She was positioned at one end of a long oval table with the other professors around her, and at the other end was Minister Scrimgeour, between them the school governors.

"Has the Board reached its decision?" called out Minister Scrimgeour.

She fought to keep herself still. The moment had come.

"We have, Minister," answered a warm voice, a tone of formality in her words. It was an old witch, who looked well above a hundred years old—Madam Griselda Marchbanks. "The Hogwarts Board of Governors has convened this 23rd of June, 1997, with regards to the possibility of a permanent or temporary closure of the school. With the issue of permanent closure of Hogwarts, the Board has come to a unanimous conclusion that eternal closure would be fruitless and prove to be ultimately ill-advised. Furthermore, the Board has reached with a greater consensus the decision to reject the British Ministry of Magic's proposal for a temporary closure of the school and have reached the conviction to continue to open the school, starting the beginning term on September the first, as has been the practice for many centuries and perhaps for many centuries to come.

The speaker paused, but Minerva did not relax. There was surely more to come. Surely.

Then Madam Marchbanks, most likely the head of the Board, continued, "With the lesser consensus, the Board has reached its decision to furthermore reject the Ministry's offer of a High Inquisitor to overtake the duties of the Headmaster, and with respect to the Hogwarts's By-Laws, the Board of Governors shall appoint Professor Minerva McGonagall as interim Headmistress of Hogwarts, until the probationary period of one full year, three hundred and sixty-five days, has passed. She shall then meet the Board of Governors for an assessment of her administrative skills wherein it will be determined whether she will be appointed as full Headmistress of Hogwarts School."

The Minister let out a noise of outrage, and Minerva thought she could breathe again at last. She was interim Headmistress. Hogwarts would remain open, and not only that, but without Ministry influence. That, she would ensure.

"So decided," called out Madam Marchbanks over the noise, her tiny form taut with irritation at the disturbance, "by the Hogwarts Board of Governors this 23rd of June, 1997. Let all records show that every decision has had the support of a consensus within the Board, and let all here be witnessed to its decrees: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry shall open on the first of September to begin its 1027th year of service and education under the administration of Professor Minerva Athena McGonagall, interim Headmistress." The old woman paused for a moment, then continued. "As chairman of the Board of Governors, I, Madam Professor Griselda Marchbanks, declare this 1913th meeting of the Hogwarts Board of Governors concluded."

Harry withdrew gently, and found that only moments had passed by while he had viewed the memory. So, he thought to himself, Hogwarts would remain open. Excellent. "So," he said quietly, breaking the silence, "Hogwarts is to remain open. I believe congratulations are in order, interim Headmistress McGonagall."

The professor looked up, startled, and her eyes narrowed—before she shook her head ruefully. "I should have known. You, just like Dumbledore, are now as omniscient as he was."

Harry only smiled. "Perhaps, Professor, perhaps. Well, as you can see—" he gestured behind him to the emptied shelves and desk "—I've already cleared it up for your use. Use it well. Dumbledore has always had utmost confidence in you, you should know. You will do well as Headmistress."

"T-thank you," said Professor McGonagall unsteadily. "It—it is good to know that he would have thought so."

He nodded sadly. Yes, he knew very well. "Well, then. It is time for me to move on. Tell me before I leave, what else has gone on in the world with my absence?"

"Not much has occurred," Professor McGonagall replied after a moment of collecting her thoughts. "Of course, the wizarding world is still in an uproar; Dumbledore's death the cause, I believe."

Harry nodded, motioning her to continue.

"There have been no attacks recently. Death Eaters have been laying low."

"And Lord Voldemort?" Harry's mouth quirked when her lips tightened oh-so-slightly at the name.

"He has not shown himself at all, as of yet."

"I see," he replied slowly, considering. "And what of the Dursleys and Tonks? How has my absence been covered up?"

"Miss Tonks was able to take your form and traverse with your friends to King's Cross—however, she had to be called back to Hogwarts before even meeting your relatives. Oh, and yes, the Aurors will be finishing up today, I believe." Professor McGonagall's lips twitched a little. "I have yet to meet an Auror who found this survey of the castle defenses a pleasant excursion. I believe Hogwarts did not enjoy their intrusion." Harry nodded pleasantly, agreeing. "As for your relatives, perhaps I should have arranged to inform them of the delay in your return—but I found myself otherwise preoccupied." The newly appointed Headmistress did not show a shred of apology, but rather seem pleased with herself at this.

Harry raised an eyebrow. He knew, just as she did, that she could have easily informed them—by owl, if nothing else. But he said nothing. After all, what did he care if the Dursleys had had to wait for hours, before finally leaving in a fit after being stood up by him? The thought made Harry nearly chuckle.

Professor McGonagall's breath caught suddenly, and he looked at her inquisitively. "Professor, are you all right?"

"I—Potter," said Professor McGonagall, stumbling over her words. "You looked just like Dumbledore right then; your eyes twinkled as merrily as his had always done."

"Indeed?" said Harry pleasantly, oddly undisturbed by this piece of knowledge. He had already accepted that his mannerisms would change with the integration of Dumbledore's memories. The twinkling of his eyes seemed to be one of those changes, albeit a peculiar one. He could remember many times when he had wanted to stop the man's blue eyes from twinkling so freely—but it seemed now he would have that same annoying habit. He couldn't help but chuckle.

"Now what, Harry? What will you do?" asked Professor McGonagall after a moment.

Harry cocked his head to the side, looking at her carefully. "Why, plan the war against Lord Voldemort, of course." He smiled down at her with a pleasant expression of tranquility.

"Yes," she said coldly with irritation. "Perhaps a little more detail would be welcome?"

"But, Professor, surely you would understand my reluctance to trust even you with my plans—now, it is not a reflection on your integrity, but rather a precaution to protect you. You know this." Harry waved, and the table between him and the professor vanished. "Now, Dumbledore was always intending to leave the Order to your command should he ever have faltered. That time has come. Take great care of the Order of the Phoenix." He stood, and looked down at the professor. "Minerva McGonagall, you have been charged with the safety of this school as well as the safety of the Order. Do you accept these responsibilities, and give oath to commit your utmost to them?"

Professor McGonagall looked up at Harry, her eyes blinking a few times at the suddenness of his demands, before they hardened. A glint of determination entered her steely eyes, and she spoke at last with confidence. "I do."

"Then may Merlin guide your hand, Headmistress and Commander of the Order of the Phoenix. You have been charged, and you have accepted. Be safe."

Professor McGonagall stood slowly, and Harry nodded. "Well, since we have that over with, I should hope I needn't warn you of speaking to anyone of this? That silence for now is best?" At the professor's nod, he smiled. "Excellent, then. I believe it's time for me to be leaving. I trust you, and Dumbledore certainly trusted you." He gave her a final nod. "Farewell, Headmistress." He turned to leave at last, his thoughts orienting themselves as his concerns turned towards the future.

But the Headmistress called out just as he was about to exit, and he turned back to look at her.

"Harry, I—we—thank you. You have sacrificed your life for ours." She paused, then said in an odd whisper, "Thank you."

He smiled pleasantly, and calmly, and knew his eyes twinkled. "No worries, Professor—"

"Minerva," she interrupted. "You may call me Minerva."

He nodded. "Minerva, then. You need not worry. I no longer view the Memoria Exsisto as a ritual of sacrifice, but rather a ritual that helped opened my eyes, and gave me a chance. I'm not sorry for what I did, and neither should you." He took a deep breath. "Now, then, Minerva, time is ever-flowing. You shall hear of me soon, I should think."

And with that he turned and left at last. He had a nation to save, and he had a wizard to destroy.

And behind him, within the recently emptied office stood interim Headmistress McGonagall, who whispered with wonderment after Harry left, a voice filled with hope: "I believe in you, Harry. You will do well."

Harry had Disillusioned himself to look like one of the many Aurors crawling up and down the hallways of Hogwarts, and hid a grin whenever the moving staircases would lurch with a start on several poor Aurors. Sometimes the staircases would shift just before someone managed to get on it, making that someone balance precariously at the edge of the now stair-less hallway. Luckily, everyone seemed to be travelling in pairs and usually their partners managed to pull them to safety. Harry did see a couple of times when the unbalanced Auror would fall, forcing his partner to draw his wand and spell him to safety. It was oddly entertaining to see.

Of course, he did notice that generally only the red-robed Aurors were abused by the castle, as most of the other wizards not wearing the standard robes of the Aurors appeared to be workers, repairing the damaged hallways where the battle had taken place. While most of the damage seemed to be cleared up, it seemed the Ministry was taking this chance to fix up the old castle.

He met no trouble most of the way towards the Entrance Hall, but it was just as he was passing by the trophy room when he heard a shout behind him. "Hey, you there! Stop right where you are!"

A quick glance ahead of him showed that there was no one around for whom that yell could be directed at but Harry, and so he turned reluctantly. His faced them composed and cool as he spoke lightly. "Can I help you—"

"Imperio!" snapped one of the Aurors, and Harry allowed himself to succumb to the Imperius Curse with amusement.

How interesting, he thought to himself. It would be entertaining to see where this led to. It didn't escape his notice that he oddly felt no concern at all for being cursed at, but rather felt only dry amusement. Who did they think they were?

Then Harry had a sudden shock when he felt the strength of the Imperius Curse as it sank into his mind. It was as though a vice grip had slammed into his head with the force of a crushing, cascading wave; the Unforgivable Curse attempted through pure force to take root at the deepest levels of consciousness within Harry's mind.

There was only one person, apart from Lord Voldemort, who had this sort of power behind Imperio. Harry had felt claws like these only from one other person besides the Dark Lord; it had been from Milton Mulciber, the Imperius Curse specialist. Of course, he had been Imperioed by many wizards—combining Dumbledore's experience with his own—but only those two had had such powerful an effect.

Of course, even Mulciber's Imperius was no match for Harry if he ever desired to overcome it—but the very fact that it was Mulciber standing before him, disguised and free, worried him greatly. How can this be? wondered Harry with a flash of concern. The wizard was supposed to be locked away in Azkaban. Lord Voldemort must have broken him out, obviously—but why did Minerva not inform him of an Azkaban breakout? Perhaps she didn't know? If she didn't then that meant the Daily Prophet did not know—and that suggested strongly that the Ministry did not know. He frowned internally, just below his shields of Occlumency—undetected by Mulciber's claw-like curse—and decided that he would have to deal with Scrimgeour as soon as possible.

"Do you have him?" asked Mulciber's partner impatiently—Travers, Harry recognized him as. Though both Death Eaters had various charms masking their true identities, Harry could easily see through them with Dumbledore's glasses. "Well?"

"Yes, yes—though he does possess quite a powerful mind, I can feel it. But yes, I have him."

"We don't have time to dawdle then, Mulciber—"

Mulciber snarled. "Do not name me, fool! The walls have ears in this place! Have you forgotten everything the Dark Lord—?"

"Don't call me a fool!" snapped the other man just as vehemently, though there was a touch of defensiveness attached. "And what about you? Naming our Lord—" The Death Eater cut off abruptly, biting on his words before he named the Dark Lord—or perhaps he stopped because of the frosty glare Mulciber was aiming in his direction.

Harry nearly rolled his eyes. What fools!

Then footsteps approached, and Harry saw two more Aurors. Looks like things are about to get bloody, he thought as he prepared to snap the Imperious Curse—but stopped when he saw Mulciber's actions: the man was welcoming them. What? Then the Aurors were close enough for Harry to see clearly through their illusionary spells—they were two Death Eaters, Dolohov and Avery.

"Arrived at last, have you?"

One of the new Death Eaters shrugged without concern. Dolohov was obviously unafraid of Mulciber. "We were delayed." He turned to look at Harry up and down with scorn. "This the one you chose, then?"

"He was the only one going around alone."

"Indeed? Well then, now that we're all here, why don't we begin?"

Mulciber snarled wordlessly, then spoke bitingly, "Do not command me, Dolohov, you have no authority over me!"

"You imbecile!" sneered Avery coldly. "Will you bloody shut your mouth! How dare you name us—are you working for the Muggle-loving fools now?"

Mulciber glowered balefully. "Shut it." The man was practically hissing with anger. "I won't stand for being so insulted by the likes of you—!"

"Just do whatever you're going to do," growled Avery, exasperatedly. "Just get to it—make this Auror create the distraction!"

"I was just about to, imbecile," said Mulciber coldly. Then he transferred his glare to Harry.

Move, spoke a powerful voice in Harry mind, thundering with command. Run to the nearest Aurors, and begin cursing them. You will attack as many as you can. Go!

Truly fascinating, Harry thought below the surface. What did they need the distraction for? He turned, his body moving outside his control, and Harry allowed the Curse to continue its hold on his mind and body after a moment of consideration. He would see where this would head.

Harry had just turned around, preparing to run—and decided quickly that he would only run to the nearest corner, then manipulate the Imperius Curse, and watch—but from up ahead appeared a pair of Aurors. He identified both. Aurors Dawlish and Williamson.

Stop, commanded Mulciber to Harry quickly. Do nothing. You will not speak!

"What are you five doing down here in the trophy room?" demanded Dawlish as he approached with long strides. He had a frown on his face. Williamson had already drawn his wand, a suspicious glare on his face.

Well, thought Harry. It looked liked things would heat up without his intervention. He prepared to break the Imperius Curse earlier than he had planned. He would to it the moment things went bad—otherwise, he wanted to know more about the situation. What were the Death Eaters doing?

Two of the Death Eaters, Avery and Dolohov, had not even bothered to acknowledge the new arrivals and were instead studying a trophy behind its glass case. Harry couldn't see which one. However, he did see Mulciber and his partner exchange glances, and did not have a good feeling about the situation any more.

"I wasn't aware of any Aurors surveying this location," snapped Auror Williamson, his eyes searching the disguised faces of the Death Eaters, as well as Harry's. The Auror's eyes narrowed. "I don't think I've ever seen you—what in Merlin's beard do you think you're doing?"

Avery had just destroyed the glass surrounding the trophies.

Dawlish drew his wand, now, and pointed it at the two Aurors by the trophy displays. "I demand you stop, right now! How dare you—?"

"Will you just get rid of them, already?" sneered Dolohov. "Our Lord will not be pleased if we were to delay—"

Williamson's eyes were wide with incredulity. "Your Lord—delay—" Horror flashed across the Auror's face as realisation dawned on him, and he took a stumbling step back—

"Avada—" Both Mulciber and Travers started to curse at the same time, directing their wands towards Dawlish and Williamson—and Harry knew things had gone too far, now. With ease, he swiftly snapped the Imperius Curse and spun around. "—Kedavra!"

"Bloody hell—!" roared Dawlish, his wand wordlessly spitting out a curse even as he dived to the side. Williamson was not so quick and it looked like the Killing Curse would hit him straight on—

Then Harry's wand was drawn and Williamson was forcefully pulled down, allowing the Avada Kedavra to fly over his head and explode against a stone wall. Travers barely managed to dive out of the way of Dawlish's silent spell.

"Wha—AVADA KEDAVRA!" bellowed Mulciber in Harry's direction.

Harry swiftly moved out of the way and jerked his wand. Mulciber screamed as his wand tore out of his hand in a blast, and as Harry swept his wand out once more, there was a flash of golden light, and the Death Eater was tightly bound and unconscious in the corner of the room.

"Sonorus!" roared Dawlish, then his next words boomed across the whole school. "DEATH EATERS IN THE TROPHY ROOM! ALERT—"

"CRUCIO!" cried Travers from the ground, his glare hot with rage at having to dive—

Useless distraction! cursed Harry silently at the Aurors. He quickly worked his wand and tugged Dawlish away from the incoming spell—

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" Travers shouted again, and the green light sped to Williamson, who had been about to curse the two other Death Eaters who were reverently lifting a trophy from the display—it looked to be in the shape of a cup—

With a growl of annoyance and frustration, Harry swept his wand before him and a large wooden board was conjured in the trajectory of the Killing Curse, between it and Williamson—

A blast of light passed by Harry and blew Avery off his feet, and Harry spun around to see Moody lurching in with another Auror in tow, and cursed silently. More distractions! He could have easily handled the Death Eaters by now if the useless Aurors weren't in the way!

"Take the Portkey!" snarled Travers at the other Death Eater. "Take the trophy with you back to the Dark Lord—"

Dolohov, with the trophy in his one hand, swung his wand with his other—and the stone floor under Moody and his partner split and erupted up in a shower of debris—

Enough, thought Harry with a note of finality. This has gone on long enough! He swung his wand from left to right in a grand gesture of power, and magic spun out at his command. All four Death Eaters were swept together as though dragged along by a large hook, and at the same time ropes appeared around them, binding them tightly. A small flick of Harry's wand at the end of his commanding swing twisted their wands, as well as the trophy, from their hands and they gathered and landed in a neat pile by Harry's feet.

And then it was over. Moody and the other Aurors were picking themselves up from the floor—gingerly in Dawlish's case—and Harry stood standing tall before the bound Death Eaters calmly. When the last conscious Death Eater bared his teeth in his direction, Harry couldn't help but chuckle lightly. Ah, well. He arched a brow, then met the Death Eater's glare.

Legilimens. He reached out and brushed the Death Eater's thoughts. He encountered decent Occlumency shields, but grasped hold them and swiped them away with pure strength alone. The shields resisted, stretching and stretching, growing thinner and thinner, but were ultimately no match for him and finally burst. He slipped inside easily after that.

It was the mind of Dolohov, another Azkaban escapee.

He was before Lord Voldemort, bowed low on the ground. Behind him were dozens of others, rescued from Azkaban in the quietest breakout yet.

"I have several missions for you," said Lord Voldemort coldly. "You will not fail these missions. Each and every one of you, here before me now, have already failed me once. I do not take to fools well, and shall find it hard to overlook another failure. Is that clear?"

Dolohov murmured along with everyone else, vowing fervently to do his best to accomplish his Lord's will.

The Dark Lord was an imposing figure, his power a majestic vibe that fed fear into his followers. "Then, my loyal Death Eaters, listen closely. Dolohov, Avery, Mulciber, Travers—you shall find a way to retrieve a certain item for me that resides within the walls of Hogwarts. It is up to you to decide the logistics—and I shall only say this: the item that I desire must not, at all costs, fall into the hands of the Ministry."

Lord Voldemort paused to study his four Death Eaters.

"We live to serve," murmured Dolohov when he felt his master's blood-red gaze burning into him, and he heard Avery beside him whisper, "We will succeed, Master." Fool, thought Dolohov, to promise such a thing

"The item is a certain trophy—" Dolohov noticed Travers's face contort with disbelief, and barely managed to hide his own; after all, to risk his life for a trophy? "—that is located within the glass display at Hogwarts. Ahh, I see you are surprised that you risk your lives to retrieve a trophy—very well, I shall elaborate. The item has been disguised to look the appearance of an Award for Special Services, rewarded to one Tom Marvolo Riddle, but is in fact an artifact of great power. I had placed it there, many years ago through my pet, Wormtail—right under the old fool's nose, where he would least expect such an item to be found—but it is now time I have it back."

There was a moment of brief silence, thick with tension, and the Dark Lord said at last with finality. "Go now. You know the consequences of failure—I shall not tolerate it to any degree. Go now, my loyal Death Eaters!" The Dark Lord turned from them, and faced the other Death Eaters. "Another mission that I have in mind requires—"

Harry withdrew, satisfied with what he had seen, and absentmindedly spelled Dolohov to sleep. So. The award trophy was a mask for something else. Even now, as he peered down at it with Dumbledore's glasses, he saw only an ordinary trophy. Lord Voldemort must have formidable Disillusionment Charms placed on this, then. He felt a slow smile build on his face. There was only one thing Lord Voldemort would place so much protection on—it was a Horcrux, he was sure. Perhaps even the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff, he mused. He could hardly believe his luck—to have a Horcrux fall right into his hands!

"Potter?" snapped Moody in disbelief. "What are you doing here, boy? Eh?" Dawlish was staring wide-eyed at Harry and Williamson's jaw dropped with absolute disbelief. In fact, the only one who managed to keep his shock internalised was Moody's partner Auror—but, Harry thought, it was not due to the Auror's superior control, but rather it seemed the man was too stupid to comprehend the situation quickly. Of course, this was confirmed a moment later, when the Auror gasped suddenly and proceeded to stare incredulously at Harry.

The teen in question looked up calmly, disappointment written all over his face. "I never knew you to be so indiscreet, Auror Moody," he said pleasantly. "Well, no matter." He raised his wand, and whispered mentally, Obliviate. It was nearly effortless for him to enter three minds simultaneously as the Memory Charms struck—he did not cast the spell on Moody, but only on the other three—and alter their memories. He wandlessly put them to sleep was he exited, and with a flick of his wand, gently caught their fainting forms before lowering them slowly onto the floor and released them painlessly.

"What did you do?" growled Moody.

"A simple Memory Charm," answered Harry with a small smile. "Nothing to worry about. Now—" But he paused, as he heard running footsteps, and knew the rest of the Aurors were about to barge in. "It seems we're about to be interrupted. Well, I would rather you forget about ever seeing me here. Perhaps some day I may explain it in detail—but that day is not today. If you truly feel it necessary, you could see Professor McGonagall—though she might not be too forthcoming, and I'm sure I don't need to warn you again about indiscretion. Now, I have only moments left—and I fear I must stay no longer. I have no wish to be caught by the Ministry." Harry's smile widened. "At least, not on their terms. I trust you can handle this mess, correct?"

Moody seemed gob-smacked—most probably from the overflow of information. Harry nodded. "Very well. I'll bid you a good day, then." He quickly reached over and conjuring a cloth, wrapped it lightly around the trophy. After all, there was piece of Voldemort's soul within it—there was no telling what it might do if Harry touched it.

Harry just managed to hide himself behind a veil of Disillusionment Charms before the first of the Aurors turned around the corner to the trophy room, but he was long gone before Dolohov, Moody's partner, and Williamson were wakened from their induced slumber.

He would head to Privet Drive and arrange a few matters with his relatives first. Harry paused a moment outside on the Hogwarts grounds and studied Hogwarts Castle for what he thought might be a last time. I will miss it, he thought wistfully. He had been a student, a teacher, and a Headmaster at the school. Yes, he would miss it.

Carefully adjusting the trophy, Harry once again couldn't believe his luck. The Horcrux had practically fallen directly into his hands! He only hoped the others would be as easy to find. While he did have suspicions as to where the true locket lay, as well as the other Horcruxes, there would still need to be a search for their exact locations—not mention the unknown last Horcrux. But he was determined to succeed. Besides, Dumbledore had already been thinking of it, and Harry knew his plans most intimately now.

With a deep breath, Harry stepped outside the gates, still cloaked behind spells of deception, and Apparated to number four, Privet Drive.

Only now, he knew, the true work would begin.

To be continued….

Part II: Foundations will be updated soon. But reviews really encourage me to write! So take the hint and review! A simple, "Wonderful!" or a "Love it!" will do! Even simple messages like that inspire authors to write more!

Ending Notes:

Again. Contest entry. Hopefully done soon. My beta will soon have the next part looked over. Hopefully. I have to admit, she does have her work cut out for her.

Please give me an honest review, thanks!

Read the "To be continued…." section for the date of the next upload. Happy reviewing!

Comments always welcome.

-- liath

! Updated: 8.29.06 !