Revised AN: Something that I meant to include in the original version, but kept forgetting as I went through an author meltdown during the later chapters, was letters from Sirius to Harry. Well, I'm adding them now, so enjoy.
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Chapter 8.
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Hey Harry!
I've officially been granted asylum by the Department of Magical Affairs, and I've got to tell you, these people really know how to treat a man. They sent me off to rehab and therapy as soon as the paperwork on Asylum was finished, which has the downside of them always wanting to talk about my time in Azkaban, but the upside of a hospital staffed with attractive young nurses. Everything's all done up with muggle technology too, and I can see why back in the day, Lily used to go on little rants about how backward Wizarding society. Some of the staff are really friendly, and I've nabbed the attention of a couple of the nurses by telling them stories from back home, a couple of the others though, and one of the doctors, seem to think that me being a pureblood, and especially a Black, makes me some kind of garbage.
Of course, aside from Andy and myself, Blacks are pretty much trash, so they'll find no argument from me there. How's things in good old Hogwarts? How's the lovely young miss Granger? She kissed you yet?
-Sirius
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"That," McGonagall said severely, "Is what a year at school is supposed to be like. No students attacking each other, no Basilisks running amok, and especially no incompetent professors."
She was addressing the Hogwarts faculty in the staff room, and more than a few emphatic nods met her remarks.
"It has been nice not having to deal with divisive elements amongst the staff," Flitwick said happily.
"Was it really that bad?" Lupin, the previous year's DADA professor, and the coming year's Potions professor, as well as the new head of Gryffindor House, asked.
"Severus was an excellent Potions Master," McGonagall said, "However, he made a habit of using the full authority of his position to prosecute his vendetta against James Potter, against Harry. If I had not intervened two years ago, I suspect Harry would have done him substantial injury."
Lupin nodded gravely; In every single one of his Defense classes that year, Harry had always mastered the spells first, if he did not already know them.
"Lockhart was almost as bad," Sinistra said, scowling, "The blighter kept trying to flirt with me. Ruddy fop."
Sprout snorted.
"If he has learned a single thing since graduating twenty years ago," She said, "It is how to take better care of his appearance. That boy always was more concerned with what people thought of him, than what he actually was. A cowardly braggart seems a logical result of such an attitude."
"I understand the… difficulties that have been involved in keeping the Defense post staffed," McGonagall said, "But I still think he could have found better than Lockhart. Of course, lack of time due to his multiple commitments was why he had to retire, so I suppose it shouldn't surprise me he ended up settling for less."
"Speaking of which," Pomfrey asked, "Who have you hired to replace Remus?"
"Amelia Bones," McGonagall said with a self-satisfied smile, "If there is a more qualified instructor, I do not know who it is."
"Indeed," Flitwick said, pausing to take a sip of tea before continuing, "Next year should be most interesting."
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Harry sat quietly, contently, on the Hogwarts express as it progressed steadily South. Those seated in the compartment with him were chatting quietly amongst themselves, or sleeping. Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones had begun to spend study time around him and Hermione from the very beginning of the year, apparently on the recommendation of Susan's aunt, who knew Hermione's magical tutor. Ginevra Weasley and Luna Lovegood had been invited to actually study with them, rather than sit two tables away, blushing and giggling, by the pair of Hufflepuffs, something Harry was still not entirely sure was a good idea. Neville Longbottom had more or less been dragged into their study groups by Hermione, who had refused to tell him why when he asked her about it.
The three Slytherins rounding the group out, and making the compartment into a tight fit that would likely not be able to handle the next year's growth, Blaise Zabini, Tracy Davis, and Daphne Greengrass, had joined their group, apparently, at the prodding of Aurora Sinistra, their Head of House, as one of many measures intended to end the wall of separation between Slytherin and most of the other houses.
Slytherin had been a very different house this year, with no Severus Snape, and Draco Malfoy having turned into a studious introvert. It had changed the social environment of the school; the first month of the school year had seen the full authority of the Heads of House, and the Headmistress, coming down like a hammer on any and all bullying in any house, with escalating punishments, until one of the Slytherin prefects had been expelled after being caught trying to cover up such behavior.
Harry had paid careful attention to McGonagall's reforms of the school, noting their effects, and his respect for the woman had only grown. The total amount of fear in the school had declined, and as far as Harry was concerned, that was more than enough to tell him McGonagall knew what she was about.
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Gabrielle Delacour was on a Mission, with a capital M and everything. Her sister had locked herself into her room to cry again, and Gabrielle was not going to allow that to stand. She had a lemon meringue pie and a bag full of chocolate croissants, and fifty feet of rope, and with this, she was certain her mission would be a success, if she could only get over her fear of heights.
She carefully stared down over the edge of their country house's roof, and tugged on the rope again, to make sure it was secure. She was three stories up, and falling was a very frightening thought to the nine year old, but her big sister needed her. Nervously checking to make sure the sack with the pie and croissants was properly seated on her back, Gabrielle took a deep breath, gripped the rope tightly, and began climbing down the side of the house.
She had seen her papa climbing down rock faces like this before, something he did for fun, which she couldn't imagine. Mimicking the way she had seen him move, she 'walked' backwards down the side of the house, bearing her weight on her arms, slowly, carefully, gripping the rope with the strength of desperate fear. It was a surprisingly brief climb down to her sister's open window, but she supposed it really wasn't all that surprising, she was only climbing down a single floor after all.
Having successfully reached the window, it was a simple matter to wriggle her way through, careful not to crush the pastries she was carrying, then plant her feet on the floor of her sister's room. Looking around, she found that a half dozen picture frames lay on the floor by the south wall, smashed, and her sister was wrapped up beneath her blankets on her large double bed, holding one of her pillows, and as best Gabrielle could tell by the way she was trembling, crying silently.
Her face set in a determined scowl, Gabrielle marched across the room to her sister's bed, placing her sack on Fleur's bedside stand, and opening it. She winced slightly when she found that one of the croissants had become partially imbedded in the top of the pie, and pulled it carefully out. After spreading the assortment of pastries out on the end table, she climbed onto the bed, and crawled under the covers in search of Fleur.
"Fleur," She said as she wormed her way through the blankets, "Fleur, did you have to break up with your boyfriend again?"
Her sobs rising into the audible range was the only response Gabrielle received, but it was more than enough for her.
"Well then he must have been a jerk," Gabrielle said firmly as she found her sister's back, and pulled her firmly into a hug, "And jerks don't deserve my big sister."
Fleur did not respond, so Gabrielle simply lay there, holding her sister while she cried. When she was still crying some time later, Gabrielle frowned.
"Maybe you can just marry papa," She said, "All the other boys seem to be idiots."
Choking laughter interrupted Fleur's tears, and though Gabrielle wasn't sure why her sister was laughing, she was glad she wasn't crying anymore, so she smiled.
"I think," Fleur said after regaining her breath, "That mama might object to that."
Gabrielle tugged on Fleur, who responded by sitting upright, and unwrapping them from the bundle of blankets.
"Well," Gabrielle said, "We'll just have to find you a new boy then. I'm sure we can find one that's not a jerk somewhere."
"I'm not sure," Fleur said sadly, turning to face her sister, "All of them seem to want the same thing from me, and won't stay with me if I don't sleep with them."
Gabrielle scowled at her sister's tear-streaked face.
"Your face," She said, "Is entirely too sad. It needs pie."
Confusion crossed Fleur's face for a moment, until Gabrielle reached over to the bedside table, and withdrew the pie, which was already cut, and offered it to Fleur.
"Oh Gabrielle," Fleur said with a bittersweet smile, as she accepted the pie, then a fork, from her sister, "Whatever would I do without you?"
"Eat less pie," Gabrielle said, smiling up at her sister as she withdrew her own fork from the sack, and then the two sisters dug in.
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The Philosopher's Stone, Harry though, Or the Sorceror's Stone, if you prefer. What was this doing in a school?
He had been researching what it might be, off and on, over the entire course of the school year, but it had been, ironically enough, a Chocolate Frog card, that had clued him in to the connection between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel. It had taken him the first week of Summer break to figure out how to use it to turn lead into gold, simply boil both the stone and the lead in water, but he still did not know how one produced the Elixir of Life with it.
The ability to create gold had been plenty enough in and of itself; Dobby was busy taking ten pound chunks of pure gold to various purchasers around the world for sale, careful not to flood the market and depreciate Gold's value. Harry was very rapidly becoming an incredibly wealthy young man. What he intended to do with that wealth, he was not entirely sure, but money was, in a very real way, power, and one that he was not willing to forego when he held it so readily in his grasp. He was going to need to develop a secure way of storing all that wealth however, something he would spend some time thinking on.
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"I understand you were rather withdrawn this year at school," Lucius Malfoy said to his son.
Draco stared back across the table at his father, expression a carefully crafted mask that Lucius discovered, to his surprise, he could no longer read past.
"I have focused more on my studies than in previous years," Draco said calmly, meeting his father's gaze briefly before turning back to his meal.
"Draco," His father said, "I have told you many times of the importance of the connections you establish in school."
"Yes," Draco said, "I am well aware of the importance of such, but I have been waiting for the field to stabilize before making another move."
"What do you mean, Draco?" Narcissa asked.
"I'm referring to McGonagall's changes to the school, and how Potter is affecting the social landscape," Draco said, "Social power is held in different ways at Hogwarts now."
"How so?" Lucius asked curiously; his close management of Fudge had allowed him little attention to his son's schooling.
"Under McGonagall," Draco said, "Nobody gets away with anything. The only students who still habitually break the rules are the Weasley twins, and that's because they're willing to spend half of their weekends and evenings in detention for their pranks. Marcus Flint was expelled at the end of the first week of school for trying to intimidate a group of first years into not reporting the bullying of other first years. Intimidation is an utterly useless tool, and Harry Potter has become the social measuring stick for our year without even trying."
"What has he done to establish himself in such a position?"
Draco laughed, surprising both Narcissa and Lucius, and Lucius found, to his consternation that there was a faint mocking element to the laughter.
"Father," Draco said, "Do you know why Dumbledore chose to retire as Headmaster?"
"No," Lucius said after a moment's pause, "I do not."
"Something happened between Potter and McGonagall," Draco said, "No one, and I mean no one, knows just what, except for Potter and McGonagall themselves, during first year. After that, McGonagall put Professor Snape on probation, removing him as head of house, and convinced Dumbledore that he needed to retire. In essence, most of the students believe Harry Potter engineered Dumbledore's retirement, and McGonagall's ascension. Considering how effect a Headmistress she has been, the vast majority of students feel considerable gratitude towards him. Combine this with the rumors that he defeated a Troll in first year, McGonagall's word that he somehow defeated a Basilisk in second year, and that he is known to have bested Crabbe, Goyle, and myself multiple times, but neither boasts nor brags of any of these things, and he has successfully gained an air of reserved, untouchable power. Before Flint was expelled, several upper year students in Slytherin were considering attacking him simply to break this reputation."
A long silence passed as Lucius digested his son's words.
"And your personal impression of him?" Lucius eventually asked.
"I attempted to exchange spells with him twice," Draco said, "But one could not even call them duels. During first year, after you taught me the stunning spell, I caught him in a perfect ambush position, casting a spell at him with no warning in an empty corridor, he dodged the spell, and blocked my follow up with a summoned suit of armor, then I never saw him again. Somehow he took my wand, and as you will recall, I found it snapped in the entrance hall the next day. I still do not know how he did that.
"The second time I confronted him and demanded a formal duel, which he declined. When I moved to cast anyways, he summoned Crabbe and Goyle into me before I could even finish casting my spell. I never even saw him draw his wand. He stunned us and turned our wands over to McGonagall, who made us each do a month's detention in exchange for their return. He also claimed he'd held you at sword-point, and informed me that until I was better than you, I should not even attempt to face him."
Draco was staring directly at his father as he finished his recounting, and noticed the slight flush that crossed Lucius face.
"He did, didn't he?" Draco said, and Lucius scowled.
"He caught me unprepared," Lucius said, "I had not expected the boy to be so dangerous."
Draco laughed, and this time the note of derision was clear.
"Harry Potter catches everyone unprepared," Draco said, "I've been watching him. He is never caught off guard. I paid Theodore Nott to be 'clumsy' with his banishing charms in class once, but even when the spell came at him from behind, he evaded it. He is aware of everyone in a room, and of every bit of magic directed him, though I don't know how. He practices his spells obsessively, I have never seen him doing anything except eat, study, practice magic, or take a shit. Even in the bathrooms he checks every person who walks through the door! I'd say the boy was paranoid, but he isn't afraid, just aware. He caught you off guard because nobody is ever as on guard as he is, except maybe for Dumbledore.
"Nobody pays as much attention to these things as I do, except maybe for that mudblood he saved from the Troll during first year, and the way she looks at him, the only thing he's in danger of from her is a thorough snogging. The other students see how he carries himself though, with an absolute confidence, and it's common knowledge that he's not just McGonagall's favorite, but that she trusts him implicitly. Apparently she announced it to Gryffindor house the other year after he paid to have her un-petrified. He's the one with all the power at Hogwarts, and everyone knows it. I've made myself into his enemy, and everyone knows that too."
The table was silent for a long time when Draco finished speaking. Some minutes later, it was his mother who eventually broke the silence.
"What will you do, Draco?" She asked softly.
"I'm not certain yet," Draco said, "As best I can tell, I'll either have to make nice with him, or simply stay on the sidelines until we graduate."
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Harry Potter, age fourteen, walked into Gringott's bank. His hair and scar were completely covered by a simple baseball hat, and he was wearing contacts rather than glasses, a difference which was more than sufficient to prevent him from being easily recognized, a necessity with his celebrity status. Surveying the bank, he selected the teller that was the least visible from other positions in the lobby, and moved up in front of the Goblin.
"I would like to make a deposit," He said, placing a twenty pound gold bar on the Goblin's desk.
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"Well," George Granger said, staring across his desk at his niece, "Now that you're free from other scholastic commitments, I hope you have more time for Science?"
"Uncle George," Hermione said seriously, smiling, "There's always time for Science."
George Granger smiled too.
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Harry Potter, age fourteen, temporarily potion-aged to appear eighteen, with legitimate but glamered documentation to prove it, walked into a Wells Fargo bank branch in London during the slow hours between two and four PM. There were only two tellers at the counter, the two young women only occupied with chatting with each other; wearing a polite smile, Harry approached one of the two.
"Excuse me," He said, "I would like to know if your bank accepts electronic fund transfers."
"Yes we do sir," The teller said, eyeing him up and down.
"In that case," Harry said, pulling out his wallet and withdrawing five hundred pounds, "I would like to open an account.
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As he always did after a game, Victor Krum sought solitude. After seeing the way the English and Irish behaved at sporting events, he was thankful that his own people were much more restrained in their expression of adulation, but he still preferred solitude after the game, win or loss.
This loss had been different though. Krum considered the Golden Snitch he held in his hand; it still attempted to escape every now and then, but by and large it was quiescent. For the first time in his career, Krum's skill alone had not been sufficient to bring victory; his teammates had been completely outclassed by the Irish Chasers, and even when the team's coach had subtly ordered the Veela to pose a distraction, their team had still been crushed.
This was the first time ever that Krum had not been able to accomplish anything and everything that was needed by himself, and he was unsure what to make of that.
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Harry walked into one of the Citibank branches in London…
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George Granger sat across from Hermione Granger and Andromeda Tonks, picking through the remains of their delivered lunch.
"So," George said, "Now that you're finally up to speed with where I am so far," He said, "How do you think your extra-natural abilities can contribute to the project?"
"Well," Hermione said, "I've been working with Arithmancy and Runes on a small ward that will collect all of an element within any mass placed within its area of effect. It'll be slow, but if I can get Harry to help Andromeda charge it, and we use a vacuum chamber, we should be able to use it to collect any element in completely pure form."
"That would certainly be useful," George said, "It'd save us a bundle on purchasing supplies. Can you do the reverse though?"
Hermione frowned before answering.
"Sort of," She said, "I can make a ward that will fuse whatever is within it together, but I can't get it to form organized structures yet, which makes it mostly useless for crafting composites. I was actually hoping to ask you for help, as the Arithmancy works a bit like programming a computer with the molecular structures we want, and I was thinking that…"
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Harry appeared abruptly over the North sea, sitting astride his broom. It was August now, and he was restless with thought. Harry knew now, after his confrontation with Scrimgeour, and the Ministry's continuing inability to track his Apparition, that if he wished, he could disappear from the world, and safely conceal himself nearly anywhere he wished. He had mastered simple disguise potions, he was magically and physically fit; he had found no mention of professional magical trackers anywhere in the world, and no non-magical tracker would stand a chance at tracking him down. If nothing else, he could magick himself a sealed, heated environment in Antarctica, and have no human contact at all.
He was free. And not only was Harry free, he knew he was free, and with time and practice, the magnitude of his abilities would only increase; his magical core wasn't even fully mature yet, and he could already Apparate more swiftly, and to a greater distance than almost any adult wizard. Harry knew that if a sufficient quantity of sufficiently powerful or resourceful people wished to track him down and subdue him, it would eventually happen, no man was of unlimited power, but Harry had spent the last six years of his life making certain that it would be beyond prohibitively expensive to do such a thing to him.
A scowl crossed Harry's features as his thoughts took a darker turn.
Voldemort. And that damned 'prophecy.'
Harry had freedom of a sort, but Voldemort's wraith, and his old followers, were both numerous, and had a great many resources at their disposal, even if they were mostly incompetent in utilizing them. He needed a way to deal with them before he left Britain, or they'd come after him, but aside from just killing them all, something he was not prepared to do, he had no idea what.
Maybe I should ask Hermione… Harry thought.
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Harry sat on the small island he had purchased a week ago (as well as a number of other properties around the world), and stared across the improvised firing range at the set of ballistic gel targeting dummies. There were a dozen of them, and thanks to the Reparo spell, he would only need more when he moved up to heavy testing. Not that he couldn't afford more. Harry wasn't sure if Dobby even slept, the Elf spent so much time selling gold to various buyers around the world, then mailing cash deposits to various branches of the banks Harry had opened accounts at, helping Harry rapidly accumulate a diversified mass of wealth. Soon, he would begin looking into companies that had enough stock available that he could acquire controlling interests; Harry did not desire any less than a controlling number of shares.
That was for later though, for now, Harry was going to engage in weapon's testing. It was amazing the number of illicit arms dealers who would sell to literally anybody in exchange for gold, rather than potentially traceable currency. To his left were over two dozen AK-47's, a half dozen M-4's and M-16's, a variety of RPG's, a CZ Skorpion, 3 MP-40's, an MP5, a dozen Berretta's of different models and modifications, and a single M2 machine gun. The assorted varieties of ammunition were kept in crates beyond the weapons cases. Dobby would have brought more, but Harry did not want more weapons than he was able to effectively familiarize himself within his limited time span.
To his right were marbles, an assortment of small knives, small rocks, books, and other items that could be easily carried inconspicuously or found in everyday living. In carefully-packed crates behind him, were grenades, sticks of dynamite, a variety of explosives used for mining and controlled demolitions, and a handful of antipersonnel mines Dobby had been able to get his hands on. Harry had told Hermione nothing of the Stone, the wealth he had acquired from it, and especially the testing he was about to begin conducting.
Reaching out with a tendril of his magic to probe the improvised bunker one hundred yards behind him, and finding Dobby still present with a handful of faint magical signatures he recognized as the healing potions he had prepared in case of emergency, Harry steeled himself, and began his testing. In territory none patrolled or watched for 'illegal' underaged magic now, Harry wandlessly summoned one of the ballistic gel dummies to himself, and placed it ten feet from his weapon pile. Then he summoned one of the AK-47's to his hand, as well as two clips. After loading the weapon carefully, he faced the dummy, and unloaded the entire clip into it.
Stepping forward, he examined the dummy carefully; it was shot through in every place it had been struck. The ballistic gel, designed to simulate human flesh in how it reacted to physical stresses and damage, had been splattered and strewn all across the firing range. Harry inspected the damage carefully, then repaired the target dummy. After spending a few moments to inspect the weapon he had used, Harry reloaded it with the second clip, before using a wandless bastardization of the hovering and banishing charms to float the clips back to the crate they had come from.
Harry then levitated the assault rifle, and stuck his arm out in front of the muzzle. After pausing a moment to brace himself mentally, he pulled the trigger with a small flick of magic. His control over the weapon was lousy through the spell, and even at point blank range, and the distraction caused by bullets slamming into his arm didn't help anything. When Harry stopped firing, nine flattened bullets were either in the process of falling from his arm to the ground, or already lay there.
Sitting, Harry carefully placed the spent weapon on the ground beside him, took out a piece of paper and a notebook, and began recording the results.
Barrier only slightly weakened by easily lethal gunfire at point blank range. Barrier spread impact shock across body to prevent local damage. Rounds that struck physically deformed by impact, and showed no signs of ricochet; barrier does not reflect or return kinetic energy in any way.
Nodding to himself, Harry stowed his writing tools, summoned another pair of clips, then switched the AK to single-shot mode before continuing the testing. Over the course of the day, Harry tested every single small arm against both the ballistic dummy, and his own barrier, in every mode of fire they had available, taking notes of how effective each weapon was against both the gel and his barrier, and how well he could handle the recoil.
On the second day, Harry experimented with banishing objects as fast and hard as he could, again against both the gel and his body's protective barrier. On the third day, he tested combat spells, and discovered, as he had somewhat suspected since the beginning of second year, that his barrier was substantially less effective against magic. It did not particularly surprise him, as his barrier had been formed to protect him from physical assault, not magical. The fact that he suffered from the occasional cold had already been plenty to inform him that he was not protected from biological attack vectors, but he knew he would have to test chemical soon.
On the fourth day, Harry tested his barrier against explosives of various sizes. His barrier was extremely effective against simple blasts, but military explosives that sent out shrapnel substantially drained his barrier. He also destroyed three dummies beyond his ability to repair with spells that day. The explosive tests suggested to Harry that focused energies were more dangerous to him than overall energy of impact, and he further tested this on the fifth day by levitating boulders of increasing size, and dropping them on himself.
Harry discovered that penetrating force was indeed more dangerous to him than blunt force, and also that his barrier would protect his chest from initial impact, but weight over time would still force the breath out of him, and it was up to the strength of his own muscles to recover it. Harry spent the sixth day directly comparing the effects of various spells and weapons on his barrier to each other, and working on a more solid understanding of just how much of a beating his barrier could take before it failed.
On the seventh, and final day of the week that he had dedicated to his testing, he experimented with charms that lessened or increased the apparent weight of the weapons and bullets, to see what effect it had on recoil, as well as making sure that shrinking and then unshrinking them did not in some way interfere with their functionality. Much as he expected, he found that a lighter gun resulted in higher recoil, a heavier gun resulted in a lesser recoil, but his slight build did not give him the strength to handle a heavier weapon effectively. He did find, however, that lighter bullets did make for a moderately more manageable recoil, and more accuracy, as the same amount of driving force resulted in a higher muzzle velocity. It cost him somewhat in penetration, but he did not expect that to be a problem, as Wizards almost universally went unarmored, and Dragon hide, the only form of armor any seemed to bother with, was obscenely expensive, and would render small arms fire irrelevant anyways.
Harry realized that he had the wealth to purchase such himself, and a simple adjustment to his appearance to make it look 'different' somehow would neatly fit as an explanation to others about the effects of his barrier. Not to mention augment its protective ability even further.
The next morning, Harry shrunk one of every weapon variety he owned, transfigured a number of belt pouches to hold them and their shrunk and lightened ammunition, and left the island to find himself some Dragon hide.
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Hermione hummed happily to herself as she carried their latest prototype across the lab to a clear steel work-bench. Her uncle George had passed out in front of his computer, snoring gently into the waterproofed keyboard (he drooled sometimes), and Andromeda Tonks had claimed the couch in her Uncle's adjacent office. They still hadn't been able to figure out a way to use magic to mix elements into useful, cohesive structures, but more access to purified elements had allowed their work to continue via more mundane means, resulting in the test piece Hermione now held in her hands.
After glancing over her shoulder to make sure that the door to the office where Andromeda was sleeping was cracked open, thus making her tutor 'present' for legal purposes, Hermione placed the prototype carefully on a pair of brackets on the steel work bench. She then cast three layers of silencing charms around the bench and herself, before examining the rectangular test piece carefully to ensure it had been placed properly, and generally fit right.
Then she picked up a small sledge hammer and slammed it down onto the piece with as much force as she could. The plate of composite material, two millimeters thick, barely shivered under the force of the blow, and showed absolutely no sign whatsoever of damage. Hermione smiled. The composite plate was hardly original or unique in it's structural properties, but it was something that had taken only the three of them to produce, and produce cheaply.
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Harry was more than slightly surprised when he received a letter from Lucius Malfoy asking for a private meeting. He responded with an acceptance, but named his own alternate meeting location and time; Trafalgar Square, noon, the following day. Malfoy agreed.
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"Hello, Potter," Malfoy said, sneer both on his face and in his tone.
It was raining, somewhat heavily, and Harry was wearing a heavy overcoat, while Malfoy was escorted by two men, one of which held an umbrella over him.
"Hello, Malfoy," Harry said quietly, turning from where he had been looking at Nelson's column to gaze up at Malfoy, "What do you want?"
"Your surrender, Potter," Malfoy said, "I control the ministry now, especially the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You are developing into a formidable wizard, but you cannot stand against the entire ministry. You would, however, be a useful asset to me, and as such if you surrender yourself and enter my service, I will be willing to overlook the previous unpleasantness between us."
Harry stared at the tall, confident blonde, well dressed in a suit that was somewhat archaic by modern muggle standards, but not so much so as to draw undue attention. He stared Malfoy in the eyes, his own calm, unblinking gaze meeting the pureblood patriarch's cool, commanding gaze. In that moment, Harry Potter saw something in Lucius Malfoy's eyes that made him realize that the man, as he was, would never be able to understand him, and unless Malfoy could make Harry like him, would always, always fear him for it. And the only way that men like Malfoy knew to respond to something they could neither understand nor control, was to destroy it.
"The only reason I do not kill you where you stand," Harry said softly, "Is because I do not wish to become a killer at the age of fourteen."
Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, and his two escorts shifted into a more ready, wary posture.
"You may control the Ministry," Harry said, "And you are most probably right, in that I do not have the magical ability to defeat the entire Ministry. But the entire Ministry is not here. And if you send a team of Aurors to arrest me on trumped up charges, I will face only a single team of Aurors, not the entire ministry. There is only one man in all of Wizarding Britain that I believe could defeat me, and that is Albus Dumbledore."
"Arrogant boy," Malfoy sneered, and Harry laughed softly in reply.
"Maybe," Harry said, "But you should know, Rufus Scrimgeour thought me arrogant as well, and I took his wand before he managed a single spell. I will be taking my OWL's in twenty-two months, Malfoy. After this time, I intend to leave Britain. If you stay out of my way until then, and do not attack my allies, we will clash no further. Good day, Mister Malfoy."
And with that, Harry turned, and began walking away through the rain. Malfoy's hand itched for his wand, tempted by the open back his enemy was foolishly presenting.
"Oh and Lucius," Harry shouted over his shoulder as he walked away, "Dumbledore is not one of my allies."
Those unexpected words stilled Malfoy's itching hand with surprise. Every political and ideological opponent Malfoy had ever faced had been aligned with Dumbledore, under the ancient wizard's leadership in fact, since before Lucius had been born. And Albus Dumbledore still was a powerful, nearly controlling influence in the Wizengamot, not to mention the ICW. If Lucius was caught moving against a 14 year old boy, even one who had held him at swordpoint, Albus Dumbledore would ruin him publicly. And if Lucius intended to keep Fudge in power, or arrange a suitable successor, Dumbledore would have to go.
On the whole, Lucius would be surprised if he could effectively remove or cripple Dumbledore's power in only two years, barring a scandal of large proportions. Malfoy nodded to himself and turned to leave, his escorts falling in with him.
Dumbledore first, Malfoy thought to himself, And we shall see if Potter has actually left once I am finished with the old goat.
He very determinedly did not allow himself to think about the sliver of fear that had run through him when Harry Potter had stared him calmly in the eyes, and threatened his death.
((()))
The next day, Harry sat himself down on the Hogwarts Express next to Hermione Granger, who greeted him with a smile and a hug.
"How was your Summer, Harry?" she asked, smiling brightly.
"I would think you would already know," Harry said, returning her smile with a small one of his own, "With the number of letters you demanded of me over the course of it."
"Letters are wonderful," Hermione said dismissively, "But they are no substitute for personal interaction. Now how was your Summer!"
"Productive," Harry said, allowing his smile to turn somewhat impish, "I have been rather successful in a few private projects I might tell you about some day. How was France?"
For a brief moment, Harry could see the frustration on Hermione's face as her inherently curious nature railed against not knowing what his 'private projects' were, and something in Harry ached slightly at frustrating his friend. Before a true inner conflict over it could begin, however, Hermione smiled softly, then launched into an excited (and educational) rendition of her family's vacation in France, and the many educational tours, museums, and historical sites they had visited.
She hadn't even finished covering the first week when Luna Lovegood entered the compartment, greeting them with a dreamy smile and a nod, and seated herself on Hermione's other side, listening attentively to the Granger's avid story recounting.
"Hello Luna," Hermione said when she felt the blond sitting down next to her before launching back into the story, "So then Uncle George, who had had more than a few drinks, decided that he needed to calculate the PH of each drink, so that he could derive the amount of alcohol in them, and thereby accurately control his rate of alcohol consumption, and therefore degree of drunkenness. He had, apparently, memorized the PH of Alcohol and all common components in mixed drinks while he was an undergraduate, so that hangovers would not interfere with his studies the day after parties. So anyways, it turns out the bartender was a graduate student studying Chemical Engineering at one of the local universities, and when she saw his calculations, started arguing with him that he was doing it wrong."
At this point, Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott entered the cabin, and seated themselves across from Hermione and Harry. After greetings were exchanged, Hermione continued her story.
"So Uncle George was somewhat drunk, but he's a very confident man, and he's also quite good at both mathematics and chemistry, and was determined to convince her he was right, and started the whole sequence of equations over again. He got a different result, which I'm fairly sure was because he was drunk, and the bar-tender insisted on running her own set of equations, which, of course, got a third result. Well, then Uncle George laughed at her, and said her calculations weren't any better than his when he was drunk, which got her into a right temper.
"So she writes her office phone number down on her sheet of calculations, then stuffs it in his shirt, and tells him to check them when he's sober and call her when he's realized she's right, and storms out of the bar."
She was interrupted briefly as the door opened to admit Tracy Davis, Daphne Greengrass, and Blaise Zabini, who occupied the remaining available seats amidst an exchange of greetings, before allowing Hermione to continue her story.
"Uncle George hadn't been out much since he got his third Doctorate," Hermione said, "Or around single women he wasn't related to, and had no idea how to deal with what the woman had done, and he responded to the confusion by having a few more drinks, carefully following his second set of calculations. Of course, they were off by a factor of three, and we ended up having to carry him back to the hotel. The next afternoon, when he woke up and started sobering up, he checked the bartender's calculations, and found out that she'd been right, and was rather impressed. Unfortunately, when he called her, he found out she'd been fired from the bar for her loud argument with a customer, and storming out mid-shift.
"Uncle George felt terribly guilty, and asked her if it would interfere with her graduation plans. It turns out she was graduating at the end of the Summer anyways, but he still offered her a job working on his project after she graduated. I think he did it mostly out of a sense of obligation, and didn't expect her to accept, but she did, immediately. It turns out she'd looked Uncle George up after she got home that night, and he's something of a name in his fields of study."
Then Neville Longbottom and Ginevra Weasley arrived at the compartment, but unlike at the beginning of the summer, they were now all certainly too large to fit five people on each bench.
"Um," Hermione said, looking around at the full benches, brow furrowing as she tried to figure out what to do.
"I'll sit on my trunk," Neville said, lugging the large wooden construct to the edge of the compartment, placing it beneath the window and seating himself on it.
"And Ginevra can have my seat," Luna said, standing with a smile, then tugging the red-head over and pushing her gently down onto the bench.
"But where will you sit?" Ginny asked with concern.
"Here," Luna said brightly, and plopped herself down onto Harry Potter's lap.
Harry twitched, then jerked slightly, as though his body wished to do something that he was unwilling to allow it to, and his mouth hung slightly open as he attempted to figure out what to do with himself and the tiny blond that now rested on his lap. Hermione stared at Luna, more than a little shocked by the entirely unhesitant audacity of the girl, and that, for once, someone seemed to have managed to knock Harry off balance. Deciding that being off-guard for a few moments was a good thing for Harry to experience, Hermione placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, then smiled softly when he turned to look at her.
Harry relaxed a little when he saw her smile, but still felt terribly awkward for the entire trip to Hogwarts.
((()))
End Chapter 8
"The art of war teaches us to rely not on the likelihood of the enemy's not coming, but on our own readiness to receive him; not on the chance of his not attacking, but rather on the fact that we have made our position unassailable."
-Sun Tzu, Art of War, Chapter 8, Section 11
Author's Note for Chap 8:
The recounting of the misadventure of George Granger being present in the final scene was a result of something I never really thought I'd do; changing story content due to fan feedback. However, as it did not detract from the story in any way, nor change anything that it should not have, and made sense for the character's involved, I'm fine with it. For those sending feedback, though, do *not* expect me to make a regular habit of it, as I am a firm believer that the characters in a story should drive said story, not what people reading the story wish would happen. The best of stories (for this sort of genre, at the least) are always driven by living, breathing characters who are as close to real as is possible, and though I do not achieve this standard as much as I would like, it is certainly what I strive for.
Finally, there will be only two or three more chapters to this story; the next chapter is almost finished, so there should be no more interruptions in posting schedule.