The Chronicles of Camelot: The Snake, The Boy and the Chamber

by blackshadow111

The world is a far older and better place than the muggles believe. Harry Potter knows this very well indeed. Watch as the heir of Alexander and Arthur takes a world rotting in its mediocrity, and turns it into a utopia. With unlimited resources, an icy, brutal ruthlessness and an unparalleled mind, no one can stand in his way. Amoral, Political Harry. Dead, but the rewrite is up.

14. Chapter 14

All right!

Despite the attempts of the teachers, I have successfully managed to save enough time to type a new chapter!

Ain't I cool?

Oh, and guess what? Guess? Guess? I HAVE A BETA! Yay, yay, I have a beta, you don't.

The German devil born twenty six years ago is an excellent help in my work, and all of you will be getting his edited chapters to read at the same time as I post this one.

Anyway, on to more serious things.

Warning: Author's first rant ever.

It has recently come to my attention that a lot of people think that Harry in this story is too overpowered. While some have raised valid concerns in that regard, ones that will be addressed, others have made rather pathetic attempts at sarcasm to stress the point. (Yeah Fioni, I really am talking to you, and to that falling petal-something).

First of all, to the polite (and therefore relevant) reviewers, your concerns will take time to be addressed, but addressed they will be.

To all others who I know will not stop harping on about him being overpowered, DAMN RIGHT HE IS!

If you want a pathetic, moody, bitchy little prick, whose greatest talent is to endanger everyone around him, and the sum total of whose talents is a ridiculous amount of luck, I can suggest something for you to read.

Guess what? It begins with a C, ends with an N, and rhymes with 'Shannon'.

For those who didn't get that, let me put it in simpler terms.

Me write Harry. He heaps powerful. You not like? Take iron rod, heat till white, then insert in potty hole. Then click on red button with X. Then read books.

Oh, but don't be hesitant to crank up the flames. After all, the review count doesn't care what the reviews consist of, does it?

End rant.

And finally I have to warn you that this is another info-filled chapter. I tried to mix in as much dialogue and plot developments as possible, but there's so much information that's vital to get out if the next chapters are to make any sense at all. (And I love world-building ... So there.)

Finally, I remind you that this story consists of inspiration from every single source I've managed to lay my hands on, so I don't own anything you recognize.

But now, I end this almost ridiculously long AN, and here is the story:

"Do you, Damien Ezekiel Peverell, swear to uphold, to the best of your capacity, the responsibilities that you must, as the Chief Warden of Azkaban Prison?" the voice of the master of ceremonies was dull, reciting the words as he'd recited them dozens of times before.

The voice that answered, on the other hand, was full of energy. "Yes, I do."

It was the only oath Harry recited as part of being sworn in as the new Chief Warden of Azkaban. After all, this was just a formality, seeing as much like what he had done with the Ouroboros Alliance memberships, the actual oaths had been part of the contracts he had signed for the position.

As he felt the wards realign themselves, moulding to the control of his ring, he thought back to the events of the last few days.

It had been a rough week, as attempt after attempt was made by his enemies to try and secure the release of the Noble Lords among the Death Eaters. He had blocked them all, but it had been an annoying task.

Now, as he gazed at the assembled elite of Magical Britain, here to witness the ascension of a lord to his rightful title, he felt that all of it had been worth it. It was a major step in his plans. The amalgamation of the considerable resources of the five families into his own, not to mention the hundreds, if not thousands of magical bodies that now lay in his control would be a tremendous advantage, along with the position in the DMLE that was second only to the Director herself.

And the advantages were not limited to just within Britain.

The fact was that this had been a necessary acquisition, despite the problems it was sure to cause in the future. It was an advantage, as far as Britain or even the rest of Europe were concerned. But if he looked beyond that (which he had to, given his long term plans), it was a small part of the power that he should be possessing.

Out of the thirteen Pre-Atlantean bloodlines, the most powerful magical family in the world were the Khans, who ruled over the Persian Empire, commanding no less than seven ley lines, and a population of over five million magicals. Their strengths were vast and wide-ranging, from sorcery to time magic to enchanting. All these things combined placed them unquestionably at the helm of the magical world. Their empire stretched from Turkey all the way to Afghanistan, stretching deep into Africa.

An example of the power they wielded could be seen in what happened in 1950.

A squib was born to the house of Khan. As he grew up, it was evident that despite the lack of magic, he was one of the most intelligent and charismatic scions that the family had ever seen.

So much so, that when he'd been about to be executed on his seventeenth birthday(which was the standard procedure for any squibs born to families that considered child-killing abominable), the Emperor himself intervened for him.

At that time, the oil industry in the Middle East had been booming, and the Emperor had decided to make use of it.

The house of Saud was born thus.

It had taken the royal mages a lot of time and effort, as they wiped and planted memories, created books, maps, legends, and setup histories. But in the end, the squib had a brand new country to rule over, one which, as far as the world was concerned, was the most friendly of their oil suppliers.

And not one Muggle knew of it till date, none realized that there never had been any period of time called the first or the second state, that the place which today was Saudi Arabia had been a fully democratic nation barely half a dozen decades ago.

But that, like all Muggle affairs, was an insignificant matter. What was relevant, was that the ICW knew of it the whole time, but had simply not dared to act.

But he was getting off track. The families that came after the Khans in terms of power were the Suryavanshis, and the Chandravanshis, followed by the far-eastern Samurai and shinobi clans of Xiaung and Uzumaki. These families had their own empires, with Meluha (the Suryavanshi kingdom) stretching from the borders of Afghanistan to Uttar Pradesh in Muggle India, and Swadeep (The Chandravanshi kingdom, stretching all the way from the Uttar Pradesh , to China.

China, Japan, and Korea, all were ruled by the last two Asian families, of course.

It wasn't quite so simple, as there were several vassal families, their own equivalents of Ancient and Noble houses, and so on, but this was the idea.

Then there were the Flamels, who, for all that the Asians controlled their national treasuries, were undoubtedly the wealthiest family in the world.

Compared to them, Harry's four families were hardly worth any consideration, even. There would come a time when he would be able to take them on, even crush them effortlessly. But it was a long ways away. As things were, he might be able to take on the Flamels, but it was a sketchy matter at best.

Still, this was how things were now, even though he had plans in motion that would be shortening the odds considerably in the near future.

After all, Ali Bashir had joined Ouroboros just a few days ago; shortly after Althric Artificers had signed a deal to import high-luxury carpets (Jenkins having finally come through). Seeing as the Bashirs were one of the most trusted vassal families of the Great Khan, it was another significant step.

So… yes, Azkaban was a big achievement.

Soon, he was down from the podium, mingling with the guests. He caught snatches of conversations, revolving mainly around himself, along with the choosing of the Triwizard champions that would be happening at Hogwarts tonight.

He smiled as he thought of the expressions that would be seen on several faces that would no doubt be seen when his name was announced as Hogwarts' champion. The smile soon disappeared, as he remembered something. The senior year Gryffindors were proving problematic.

Harry supposed he could understand their point of view. For three years he had ignored all his fame and power, running away from it, trying to be normal, as he'd been taught by the Dursleys and magically forced into by Dumbledore. Now here he was, rich, powerful and fully aware of it, which made him a major contender for the position of top dog in Gryffindor. They didn't understand that control over something as tiny as a group of students was so far down on his list of objectives that it was practically invisible.

No, they didn't understand that at all. Just like Snape, they saw only the son of James Potter, the man who had ruled the whole school by the time he was Harry's age; and thus had decided to oppose him. There was very little evidence of it, but Katie Bell was his vassal, and had dutifully reported everything that had been fed into her ears by Johnson and Spinnet, not to mention the Weasley brothers.

It was a pity, really. Harry had no intentions, as of yet, to stake a claim at Gryffindor or the school's student population. They still had months of uninterrupted supremacy to enjoy, but if they tried to poke him, he would make absolutely sure that they drew back a stump.

Who knew, destroying them might even prove amusing to some degree.

Bringing his thoughts back to the present, Harry saw that the time for the function was drawing to a close. Soon, the guests were departing, and it was within a couple of hours that Harry was left alone in what was now his domain.

As soon as the last of the visitors were gone, Harry turned, Apparating to his study in the Castle. There, he moved to the window, before channelling magic into his ring. As the black diamond on it pulsed, Harry felt the connection open to the hive.

Exerting his will forcefully, he willed the dementors to come to the window. While the order was transmitted, he summoned an elf and ordered it to fetch the Head of the Auror Guards.

Within moments, the elf was back with the Head of the Guards, a man called Jefferson, if Harry remembered correctly.

"Hello, Mr Jefferson. How are you today?"

"Fine, your Grace, fine. I was just packing up to go back to the mainland."

"Ah yes, my own vassals shall be taking over the day to day running of the island. Well, it has been nice knowing you." Harry smiled at the man.

Rubbing his hands together, his tone took on a business-like quality to it. "Now, Mr Jefferson, the reason I've had you brought here is that we have a few executions to perform right now."

The man was taken aback. "Right now, sir ?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes, right now. I need you to order your men to bring out every single Death Eater inmate in the castle immediately. After that they'll be free to go back to whatever they're doing right now."

"O-oh okay, sir,"

"There will, of course, be remuneration for this unscheduled task. Say, a thousand Galleons apiece for every Auror involved, and five thousand for you?"

"Wh-What?"

"Oh, you drive a hard bargain. Fine; two thousand for every Auror, and ten for you. Sufficient?"

"Oh yes, your grace. More than so."

"Well then, I need this done within ten minutes."

"Certainly,"

And that was it. Harry mused again at the power of money. It was so, so useful in silencing consciences. Fifty thousand Galleons was hardly anything more than pocket change for him, as the interest alone from his vaults amounted to triple that every month. But to the Aurors it was enough to set them up in style for months.

Turning his attention to his open window, he looked at the dementor floating outside it, reopening the link to the hive.

"There are a few souls to be taken in a few minutes. Send forth twenty of your brethren."

"We understand and obey, Dark one."

It was in barely a few minutes more that Harry could see the Aurors drag Death Eaters to his office. In a few more, they were all inside, with Harry looking over them. He selected the five independent nobles, and set them aside, before gesturing to the window. One by one, the dementors came, and Harry watched with a faint smile as one of the most important parts of Voldemort's powerbase crumbled before his eyes. The luminaries of the last war, Dolohov, the three Lestranges , the Carrow sister(all he needed was the brother), and so many others simply ended, just as Sirius had.

Their job done, Harry dismissed the dementors, except for the five still floating outside the window. The next to leave were the Aurors, after having noted down their vault numbers where the money would be deposited.

Finally, he turned his attention to the five on the ground in front of him.

It was true that he needed to take their families over, but that wasn't as simple as he'd led the Wizengamot to believe. There a simple 'assume Voldemort was noble' had worked, but old magic did not assume things. Ever.

Had he been powerful enough, he could have used abstractual magic to simply twist the fabric of reality, rewriting history so that Tom Riddle was, in fact, a Noble. But reality manipulation at that level lay quite firmly in the realm of the gods. There would come a time when Harry would be able to do it effortlessly, but it wasn't anytime soon.

Still, all it meant was that Harry would have to employ cruder methods.

The simplest method possible was to defeat them in an honour duel, with vassalage being part of the stakes. But that would require them to actually be in some state to duel. In their state, he could torture them, heaping agony upon them till they swore loyalty to him.

He could do that. It would be rather easy, actually. But he wouldn't.

It wasn't that Harry was a kind and generous soul who could never imagine doing something like that. It was just that he found torture to be distasteful in the extreme. If done for information, then all it showed was a wizard's inability to use any decent sort of mind magic, and if done for revenge, then it showed their inability to prioritize.

In this case Harry could probably use it safely, but the amounts required would destroy the bodies and magic probably beyond repair, and five healthy, powerful magical bodies wasn't something he was willing to just throw away.

Every drop counted to make up the ocean, after all.

No, the method Harry would use was different. The minds of the men, their magic, and those of their families would have to be overwhelmed by the force of Harry's magic. He wasn't a fan of this method either, actually. It was rough, brutal, and completely without the element of finesse he liked to include.

But it was the only viable method, so here he was.

Not that he would be doing things by the book even in this case.

Harry sighed as he moved ahead, till he was standing over their collapsed forms. The first thing he did was to move them with a gesture, placing them so that they were placed around him, in a very specific arrangement.

Then, with a word and a flux of the connection he held to nevernever (developed two days ago as part of his studies in sorcery), he willed a sorcerer's circle to take shape on the ground them.

As the flames spread, creating a five pointed star with Harry at the centre, he started his work. The chant was mostly Arabic, as the language of power for this particular art. In between, there were a few smatterings of Sumerian, Sanskrit, Mandarin, Mordor's dark speech, basically the languages from every civilization to ever summon demons in any significant capacity.

Not that Harry was going to be summoning any demons. No, he was more interested right now in the realm where they came from.

As his powers flexed, a small rip opened in time and space, almost exactly above Harry.

The connection open, Harry spoke a few final words needed to hold it strong, and resolved himself to wait. It would take time for the Chaos energy to accumulate to the level he needed, but it couldn't be helped.

As he waited, he let his mind wander.

The Nevernever was a strange place (and that was perhaps the greatest understatement Harry had made in his life). It was a realm of dreams and horrors, which replicated the strange nature of its creator.

To understand Nevernever, one needed to grasp the nature of both the energy that dwelt in it, and the nature of its creator.

Harry still remembered the tales he'd heard and read.

The tales of the Creator, the father of the House of Sharr

Sammael, who was The Changer of Ways, also called the Seed of Darkness, and the Bringer of Chaos.

He was regarded by many as the greatest of the Elder gods, and was one of the biggest contributors in the creation of magic.

Sammael, who, after fathering the House of Sharr on the Earth, had conspired with his children to bring forth the fall of the other gods' bloodlines. Who, upon his eternal confinement, had gained the title of 'The Desolate One'.

Before Sammael was an Elder god, however, he had been the embodiment of Chaos. 'Changer of Ways' was perhaps the truest of his titles,

The thing one had to keep in mind that chaos was the single most unpredictable force in the existence, and nowhere did this hold truer than in Nevernever. The place was an ocean of chaotic energy, raw emotion and magic given form.

In simple terms, Chaos was the very essence of change. And that was reflected in nevernever. It changed with every moment, and there hadn't been a human born that could travel there unprotected.

Of course, seeing as the immortal words of Arthur Conan Doyle held true to a scope the squib could never have imagined, humanity had, in fact, worked ways to operate in the place, effective ones at that, but that was a different matter altogether.

He was brought out of his thoughts by his senses alerting him that the pentacles were now fully charged with chaos energy.

It was time to begin.

Harry knelt down, placing his hand on the ground with the fingers splayed, to maximize the contact his palm had with the surface. A twitch of his wrist brought a specially prepared dagger to his left hand, before he resolved himself for the pain, and stabbed his hand, nailing it clean to the floor. Without missing a beat, he started a chant, and was rewarded with the flow of the blood taking a clearly defined route towards the five triangles.

With a thought he had the soon-to-be-vassals in a kneeling position, and another thought opened up similar cuts on their own hands.

At this point a few words had their own blood taking the same route, before the ten streams of blood met at the exact points where the respective triangles met the pentagon that formed the centre of the star.

It was at this point that Harry's chant stopped and his magic surfaced, travelling along his bloodstreams to the sides of the pentagon, as it met the bloodstreams of the Death Eaters. From there, it travelled along their blood to their bodies, and the real process started.

As their magic clashed, Harry focused his mind on nevernever, drawing out and centring more and more chaos magic within him.

In a few minutes, it was over. The magic of the five families had been defeated successfully by the magic of Harry's family, and he felt it as new links formed between him and the men on the floor, irrevocably binding their families in servitude to his own. At this point, he started releasing the power of the chaos he had been building up, even as words of power tore themselves out of his throat, mutilating it almost beyond recognition in the process.

As the essence of change, pure chaos was the best energy that could be used for Abstractual magic. Harry's previous attempts had been minor enough that the small amount his own body produced had been enough, but this was bigger.

Even then, as things were, he couldn't channel nearly enough power to make it impossible for these families to be freed from his control, as there were thousands, if not millions of possibilities that would have to be collapsed for it to happen.

And even if he could, he wouldn't, as he wasn't quite stupid enough to rely on the single most energy-inefficient form of magic when dozens of simpler ones were perfectly useable.

No, what he was doing was a different thing.

First of all, he collapsed the possibility of their ley lines ever coming out of his control, the chaos magic snapping the thread of fate that led to that outcome.

Next, he started on fortune manipulation, tying over two dozen curses of ill fate to any outcomes of these families falling out of his control in any way, shape or form. At this point, he had to invoke their names several times, as the power of a person's name was one of the most important components of abstractual magic.

It continued for several more minutes, Harry doing everything he could to consolidate his control over them in any way he could.

He had just finished with his final injunction, when he felt the first pains start in his heart. As if a switch was flicked, the next were the traces of light-headedness as the blood-loss from his hand. Looking down, he saw that his blood itself had gotten several shades darker.

He thanked magic that he'd timed it right, even as he cut off the link to the Other Place. Chaos magic was extremely corrosive to the human body, if used the wrong way.

It was the reason every sorcerer was required to start and maintain a link to nevernever for a few weeks, at the very least, before attempting any significant manipulations of chaos. The chaos energy had to be allowed to bleed into the user's core at a steady rate, allowing the body to acclimatize to it. As a Sharr, Harry was better off than most, seeing as his body naturally produced some chaos, but two days was still just two days.

Had anyone else tried this, they'd probably have combusted in the first few seconds (or mutated into a Lovecraftian monstrosity).

With him, it was as simple as activating the Sharr ring, and sighing in relaxation as it absorbed the extra amount of chaos magic.

Still, what was done was done was done, Harry thought as a wordless spell restored his hand to pristine condition, except for a small scar. Those with the eyes to see might have noticed the near microscopic sized sigil for 'master' in high Atlantean that was hidden in it, but then in the modern world there were very few that had the eyes to see.

Restoring the dagger to its arm holster, he walked to his desk, where a letter to Gringotts was already waiting, courtesy of Selene. Picking up a pen, he signed the order for the entirety of his newest vassals' assets to be merged into his own estate, leaving behind exactly ten million galleons apiece in cash.

No sooner had he signed that, that another flash of light heralded the arrival of another letter, this one addressed to the Wizengamot, notifying them that the votes of the families were, effective immediately, merged into those of the Potter, Peverell, Sharr, Slytherin and Gryffindor families. Getting a simple idea (and hardly able to believe that he'd missed it for so long), he added a line that the vote for the House of Lestrange was to be merged back into the Blacks' votes.

Signing it, he cast two Nuntius birds into being, before attaching the letters to their fleet and sending them off. (He'd considered purchasing a parliament of owls, but thought better of it).

Before long, it was time for the meeting. (The first one he would be conducting as Erebus Sharr, at that.)

Harry Apparated into the main ballroom of Peverell Hall, where the arrangements had been underway since the morning

And it showed. The hall was dark. Not dark, as in one couldn't see, but dark so it required a person to strain their eyes just a tad more to see things clearly. The arrangement was like a company boardroom, the whole room dominated by a table shaped like a giant T. The seats that Harry would be using with his identities were at the smaller, horizontal arm, with his own seat being at the exact junction of the two branches.

The first to arrive, quite obviously, were his three replications from the future, in the various guises, respectively. Well, two were in disguises. The third was his own face.

But that one had something different he needed to do.

Before long, he could sense the other members start to arrive. As the magical signature of Lucius Malfoy became evident to his senses, he willed the wards to allow passage to the ones who wore the membership rings (a snake eating its own tail).

Soon, the room was full. Harry had seen these people mere hours ago at Azkaban, but the mood was entirely different now than it had been at the function. A strange air hung in the room, a mixture of nervousness and rage as they waited with baited breath for the inevitable; which was the utter and complete destruction of one of their number.

Every one of the innocents present here was on standby to go in full blown CYA mode, ready to say whatever would need to be said to distance themselves from whoever turned out to be the traitor. After all, while it had been a very select group that had originally known about the Azkaban plan, Harry had sent out a general memorandum to every single member first thing after the vote, notifying them of the details.

Not that Harry intended to reveal the traitor so easily. It had taken him no less than thirteen kidnappings and mind rapes to identify the traitor, while repairing the wards he'd shattered in the process had taken a whole day. He intended to make a point out of wrangling advantages out of the whole thing, before he opened his fist.

Even then, he let his amusement show, as he looked upon the piece of filth that had dared attempt to act against him. He knew that the wording of the memo meant that anyone absent at this meeting would be regarded as the traitor, but that still didn't stop him from questioning the man's sanity in coming here.

It really was true, that there was no limit to which a person could deceive themselves.

Noticing that the last of the members was present, he gave a small cough, before speaking "Welcome to the latest meeting of the Alliance of the Ouroboros. Before we start on planning, I believe there is an issue we need to address?"

He paused, as if waiting for an answer.

Of course, no one felt brave enough to answer to that particular bit of rhetoric (Although he conceded later that it might have had something to do with the fact that the aura he was currently exuding was about ten times worse than what 'Damien' had released in the Wizengamot.)

"Hmm, of course we do. How silly of me to ask such a meaningless question. Still, it's always a sad thing, to destroy such a great family as I unfortunately am forced to today."

There were several nervous fidgets at this.

"Still, needs must. Everyone in this room knew what membership of the Alliance meant when they were offered it, and yet one of us has dared betray the covenant. One of us has gone against the will of not just the very commandments laid out in the contract they signed, but in fact a direct order from the founding council."

More nervous fidgets, as the members shivered at the steadily rising spiritual pressure, with foreheads rapidly developing beads of sweat.

It was all, of course, a carefully orchestrated game. He didn't enjoy bullying them with his magical power any more than he'd enjoyed doing in the Wizengamot, but he'd done it both times for the fact that it was damn effective. In the Wizengamot, it had saved the issue of his claim from devolving into petty squabbles that he had no doubt would've lasted weeks, while here it started the process of driving home the point that a direct order from the council was more important than the covenants of the alliance (The exact opposite of what they'd been led to believe when they first joined)

Still, back to the point (And he really was starting to wonder about this side effect of Occlumency. A mind organized in circles meant that it was very easy to go off on tangents, after all.)

The nature of his aura shifted, pure fear changing into an infectious emotion projection, as he broadcasted a blind rage over the assembled members.

He mused at how easy it would be to let this build up, to inflame their minds with rage both via his words and his aura to the point that they became little more than a lynch mob. He could do it, could turn them into slobbering beasts thirsty for blood. As a fully trained mind mage, it was very much within his capabilities.

But, it would be a very bad idea, as what he needed was a group of intelligent people, not a mob. So, even as he allowed the raw fury in their minds to accumulate, his voice remained completely calm, inducing the same in them.

"Yet, my brothers, have patience. I shall not reveal the name of the traitor to you just yet. But rest assured we have in fact identified him. He shall not be leaving this meeting alive ... That much is already decided.

"There are arrangements that are being made, and the traitor shall be seen to as soon as they're complete."

At this point he stood and looked around for a few seconds, daring the man to make a run for it. A few seconds later, he had to admit. This was one cool customer. Still, it'd be seen to later.

"For now there is a matter we need to discuss. Namely, force."

Several brows furrowed, as the owners wondered what he meant. 'Force'?

"Let me explain. Most of us sitting here are Lords of magical families. Now, we all have vassals, yes?"

They all agreed that vassals did, in fact, were a common occurrence.

"Good. Now, as we are all aware, those vassals were used in the older days to fight wars, as the private militias of the families."

This too was accepted as a fact.

"But private militias were forbidden by Royal decree, your grace! And that was for a reason."

Ah, there was Malfoy, reciting the history he'd no doubt spent months memorizing in his youth.

"I know that, Lord Wiltshire, I know that very well. The reason for that decree was to put an end to the civil war, and it specifically states that no armies can be raised with the intent to fight against each other. But what I'm talking about doesn't involve us fighting anyone within Britain.

Tell me, gentlemen, how would you like to rule a country?"

"Pardon, sir? What exactly do you mean?"

This time, it was Montague who spoke, a confused expression on his face.

"I mean, I thought that we do rule a country. This one, in fact."

"If that is what you think, then you're mistaken, your lordship." Harry said confidently."We have considerable power in this country, but we do not rule it. What I'm talking of is not something like what's currently happening here right now. No, I'm talking about complete power, total immunity from all laws, unquestioned authority, things like that."

Harry looked at each of them in the eye. "So, gentlemen, are you interested?"

Nott spoke "I don't know about the others, your grace, but I'm most interested. Just what place are you talking about, if I may ask, sir? And how do we go about taking control of it?"

"Patience, Viscount, patience. You'll know all about it in a few minutes. But for now, I request you all to answer a simple question. You have my word that this information shall not be used against you.

"Tell me. How many of your vassals can you spare, my lords?"

His question was met with several blank looks. No one wanted to answer a question like that, after all.

"Let me rephrase that, then. We; as in the houses of Potter, Black, Peverell, Gryffindor, Slytherin and Sharr have pooled every person who wasn't necessary from our vassal populations. Adding to it what we've gotten out of our vassal lords' estates, we have raised a fighting force of nearly fifteen thousand soldiers. As we speak, they are under the best training money can buy, and the first batches shall be out within a month at best." Harry said his face the very image of sincerity.

It was a complete lie, of course. He remembered the time when he'd learned about the real numbers.

"So, what are the final estimates, Selene? How many soldiers can I reasonably expect?"

"For the sake of completeness, I shall give you a complete summary, Harry."

Harry caught the printout as it materialized midair.

In the beginning, you had nearly thirty-two thousand vassals, with a few hundred of them holding decent levels of intellect and education. In the course of the next month, that changed so that all of them had at least a basic education.

After that, I came into the picture. Previously, you needed at least fifteen thousand people at the very least to properly run all of you estates. Once I took over, that number fell to five thousand. Naturally, this job was filled in the majority by those who were considered unfit for other operations, with a few exceptions that you ordered.

That meant you had nearly twenty-seven thousand soldiers at your disposal. Out of them, each and every one was pushed into military training. Seven thousand, however, have been deemed 'unfit for active duty', and placed as a reserve force, with the focus being to train them as Potioneers, enchanters, business executives, and other civilian roles.

All this gives the estimate that once their training is complete, you shall have a highly trained army of twenty thousand soldiers at your command, from your own estates.

After assimilating the contributions that have been asked for and received from your vassal lords, that number is now twenty-five thousand.

Therefore, this is the number of soldiers, highly trained, highly powerful and completely loyal, that you can expect to field once the last batch comes out in the middle of November. Of course, that is just the first stage, the second stage, assimilating the knowledge of the arcane magic shall be carried out over the course of the next few years, a few soldiers at a time, once again by your own direct order.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Not only was he misrepresenting the numbers, he was lying about their states of readiness. It was not for their benefit, of course. The members of his organization would know the (partial) truth soon enough, but this statement was for the ones at the other end of the listening spells carried by the traitor.

Of course, he doubted that they were stupid enough to take his words at face value. Lying about things like this was expected, after all. Coupled with what was going to happen in a few minutes, well…

One could always hope.

"So, what we intend to do is to-"

He cut himself short as a holographic face materialized midair.

Selene spoke "It's done, your grace."

He answered "There were no complications?"

"None. As a matter of fact, the men said that it was too easy."

"And Harry?"

"He said that he could've fallen asleep of boredom halfway through. By the way, he should be with you in a few minutes."

"Excellent. Inform the men that they shall be awarded ten thousand galleons."

"I shall."

As Selene disappeared, 'Erebus' spoke a word of power under his breath. Immediately, the wards of the manor went into full lockdown, sealing all exits, disconnecting all communication links, and finally, destroying the spells that he'd allowed the traitor to carry till now.

Speaking of traitors, he glanced at the sweating man.

As if he sensed it, the man said. "What was that, your grace?"

"Oh, Lord Yaxley, nothing much," Harry said with a shark-like grin. "Just a magical nexus of mine, informing me that something Harry had decided needed doing was done now."

"If I may be bold enough to ask, what exactly was it?"

"Oh, I went with a few men and burned down your manor with your whole family inside. Nothing much, like he said." A different voice said from the doorway.

As heads turned, the little elf standing to the side announced "Presenting His Grace Harry Potter, The Duke of Gryphonsworth and Parsellsia." In its squeaking voice

Yaxley's face turned chalky. "Wh-what?"

"Oh come on, Lord Yaxley. You didn't expect me to leave them alive after your betrayal, did you? Although I admit, you know your wards. It took me a whole minute to destroy them, not to mention the stone guardians you'd setup. A nice touch."

No one watching Harry's face could have spotted the lie. He was good with wards, but not that good so soon. But he did have the power of a ley-line at his fingertips. To be honest, he had made an inspection of the wards, had found the gaps he would normally have exploited, but instead of latching onto one of the holes and then unravelling the rest through it, he'd decided to save time, and simply battered through them with brute force.

There wasn't a keystone made that could match a human body's ability to channel magic, and that was what Harry had taken advantage of. Even so, was anyone in the room to know just how drained he currently felt, he doubted they'd have hesitated in ripping out his throat.

Hence the bluster

Harry wasn't too worried, as even as he stood he could feel the potions he'd taken just minutes ago do their work, powered from the magic that was even now seeping slowly from the ley line into his core. He would be back to peak performance in a few hours at best, but for now Yaxley would have to be taken care of by one of his other selves.

Speaking of which, Harry's attention refocused on the man whose bloodline he'd just extinguished. He saw that the man was even now standing there, gaping, unable to believe that he was now the last Yaxley in Britain.

'Serves him right' Harry thought. He knew the methods that were used to neutralize oaths as strong as the ones this man had been made to swear when he was inducted, and the most innocent of them involved at least five separate human sacrifices.

He and his family were no saints. (And at this Harry had to wonder just why he was justifying this to himself. It wasn't as if he'd hesitate before burning down the Vatican on Christmas if he could gain anything out of it.)

Still, Harry nodded to his counterparts, and watched their wands leapt to their hands, even as Yaxley's grief consolidated into grim resolve. As the man's magic took the tell-tale shade of a Lord of Magick angered, Harry couldn't help the thrill of anticipation that ran through him.

Lysander Yaxley had been the champion of the European underground duelling circuit for three years. After that he'd been a highly capable inner circle Death Eater, before he'd put on the ring that had made him the Yaxley of Yaxley. As Harry saw the politician give way to the mass murderer within, he couldn't help but think that this was going to be different from crushing Snape.

He wasn't disappointed.

The first curse to leave Yaxley's wand was a layered set of nine spells, each and every one of them capable of delivering a painful death, all of them of wildly different natures, which meant that anyone hoping to stop it with a generic shield was in for a surprise.

Thankfully, after all was said and done they were still wand-spells, meaning that they were, in essence, packages of magic wrapped in intent. As the jet of light neared Harry, it simply fizzled out, the spell deconstructed by the simple act of snapping the bond between intent and power.

This trick had left Snape gaping for several seconds. All it did to Yaxley was to make him grunt, before he modified his next spell mid-casting, adding what Harry knew was an addendum to protect against Harry's exact trick.

Dodging out of the way, Harry spoke a phrase in Celtic. Immediately, vines erupted from the floor with blinding speed, latching onto his opponent's legs. Vampire vines, which bulged as they started feasting on the man's blood

Only to crumble into dust moments later, even as the man let loose with three consecutive killing curses.

Harry could have cursed. The man knew Blood-magic then, and was good as it, as the ritual to make one's blood poisonous wasn't an easy one. Executing a pirouette to avoid the spells, he drew upon heavily on power from the ley line, conjuring a pride of lions (well, not a pride per se, as it was only male ones, but still) into being.

A few words of power had the Lions immune from all physical harm, followed by a Parsel spell that bestowed upon them the power to shed their hides as a snake shed its skin. This, in addition to the fact that they were immune to fire, ensured that they would survive even Avada Kedavra curses.

Such was the speed which Harry had developed after a continuous training of nearly a full decade that all this was executed in less than a full second. Even so, the lions barely managed to jump in the way of the next barrage of spells that were unleashed onto Harry by Yaxley.

Now had Harry released these lions in any Muggle city, he could have expected them to run its streets crimson within a few hours. Against a fully trained and highly capable wizard, well, they would be able to buy him a few seconds, at least.

It was all he would need. As the focus of the crowd centred on Yaxley as he tried spell after spell to destroy the lions. He caught the eyes of his Damien counterpart, the one for whom this was happening for the first time, and gave a tiny nod.

A few seconds later, as the last of Harry's Lions exploded into black mist, Yaxley's eyes sought out Harry once again. They found him as he moved towards the man, fingers making a simple gesture that brought into being needles of ice all around the man.

Yaxley's eyes widened, even as he channelled magic to his legs, augmenting them as he jumped high in the air.

In the confusion, no one noticed that the robes of the caster of the spell had barely finished making the colour change from the Peverell black to the Potter blue, nor did they see that the reverse had also just been completed barely a few feet from him.

Even as he came down, Harry could see Yaxley's wand moving, as he wrought what was no doubt a highly complicated spell.

But things were different now. Moments ago the Harry who'd been fighting the man had been bone-tired from breaking down millennia old wards. Yaxley had been a threat for him.

Now…

Harry turned around fingers shaping a gesture as he released a full set of Enochian spells at his opponent. The man dodged them, fire erupting from the tip of his wand, coming at Harry in the form of a bird.

It wasn't quite Fiendfyre, but the next worst thing. Leaping backwards, Harry released a pulse of magic, intended to simply overwhelm all magic it came in contact with.

It worked. The man's next spell stopped dead even as the fire fizzled out, the magic keeping it in shape destroyed. Seizing the advantage, Harry spoke a phrase in Old Norse, the results showing as a black cloud took shape over Yaxley.

Even as Harry released a set of spells that would increase gravity for Yaxley by an order of magnitude, the cloud rumbled, before a rain of steel descended from it. Daggers, knives, Long swords, Katana , Japanese kunai knives, just about every bladed weapon that had ever been used (and which Harry knew of) was present in the downpour.

Not that Harry expected the war spell to do much damage.

He was right. Even with his movements sluggish as if he was moving through custard, Yaxley managed to conjure a solid block of stone that covered him for several feet in all directions. The only thing that got through was a small, metallic bladed disk, a Chakram if Harry was correct in his Sanskrit.

It hit the man in his shoulder, cutting through several inches of flesh, before shattering as the enchantments the man had on himself reconstituted from the pulse Harry had released a few minutes ago.

Harry watched as the muscle on Yaxley's shoulder started to knit itself back together, no doubt a result of the blood-magic the man had done.

Speaking of blood magic, Harry palmed the blade of the Chakram, which had appeared in his wrist holster the moment it had been shattered. A thought brought out a specially prepared doll into his figure, his lips shaping into a tiny smile as he wiped the blade onto it.

It widened when he realized that the blood remained as it was, instead of turning into acid or simply vanishing. The reason for this was a long story, as it involved a Sharr lord who'd released deliberate misinformation in the form of a book stating that the blood poisoning ritual also worked as a ritual to make one immune from offensive blood-magic.

Spotting the expression on Harry's face and somehow managing to mistake it for one of fear (A human's capacity at self-deception showing up again); Yaxley taunted "What happened, your grace? Scared?"

Harry didn't bother with an answer. He realized now that Yaxley never really intended to achieve anything from his little tantrum. He knew that his life was over the moment he entered wards controlled by a family that regarded him as its enemy. All he'd been hoping for was to manage to kill Harry, an ambition that was now impossible in the face of Harry's prowess.

Because the level of magic that Harry and Yaxley had been throwing around for the last several minutes wasn't something many people could sustain for any length of time, and one way or another Yaxley wasn't going to manage more than two or three more spells.

Not that he would be getting the chance. As the last droplet of blood was transferred from the blade to the doll, Harry spoke a word. Immediately, he could feel its power take hold, the runes on the doll glowing as the voodoo connection was made.

That point onwards Harry quite literally held Yaxley's life in his hands, and it showed, as with a simple spark that appeared when he snapped his fingers, both the doll and the man burst into flame. This time there wasn't a spell on Earth that could have saved Yaxley, and soon enough all that was left of him was a charred, blackened husk.

The man dead, Harry felt the presence of the magic of House Yaxley start to fade away, with the ring on the man's finger glow brighter and brighter, preparing to transport itself to the Yaxley vault at Gringotts.

Not if Harry had anything to say about it. He darted ahead, fingers closing around what remained of Yaxley's wrist, before he tore it off from the forearm with a savage movement. A few deft movements saw the finger pulled out of the hand, before Harry held the (now red hot) ring in his own hand. He ignored the burn in his hand, as he brought the full might of his magic to bear, before he put on the ring.

Immediately, even as he cut his finger to allow his blood to cover the ring in its entirety, he could feel the Yaxley family magic start to fight against him.

But it was a foregone conclusion. There existed a considerable amount of power in the act of slaying the Lord of an Ancient and Noble family, particularly where claiming power over said family was concerned. As his families' magic overwhelmed the Yaxleys, Harry spoke the words.

"I, Harry James Potter, Slayer of Lysander Yaxley, claim dominion over all rights, assets and powers of the House of Yaxley, as is my due by the Right of Conquest. So I command, thus it is."

With that, it was done. They struggled some more, but Harry could feel the magic of the House of Yaxley take a definitive subordinate tinge, even numerous bonds formed, asserting the full control of Harry over the ring, which, in turn, controlled all that there was in the House of Yaxley.

The aftermath of the impromptu battle was rather tiresome, as Harry was forced to order two whole rounds of Brandy to calm the nerves of the members. Eventually, the meeting moved forward.

Unsurprisingly, no one said a word about what had just gone on between them.

That was to be expected, however. The right of conquest was older than any of the current nations of Earth, and it was especially ingrained in British culture.

You kept what you killed. That was all there was to it.

"As I was saying, it is a fact that most of us control a significant number of Vassals, who are bound to obey us no matter what we command. My proposal is that, much as our ancestors did such a long time ago, we arm them, contributing all that we can into one army that shall be the instrument through which we shall secure for ourselves a new country."

"All that's fine and good, your grace, but exactly what country are you talking about, if you don't mind me asking?" This time it was Malfoy who asked.

"Russia, my friends, Russia," Harry said grandly. "The land where no less than four ley-lines meet, currently locked in a brutal civil war. Let me explain.

"Currently, there are nine factions vying over control of Russia. Seven of them are families, and two are groups of individuals much like us."

"So, you ask us to join in?" Malfoy asked mildly, "Become a tenth faction?"

"Absolutely not," Harry said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Out of everything else that can be considered, that is out of the question. What I ask is rather different.

"The thing is, I have a vassal house by the name of the Strassinov currently involved in the war. They are a powerful faction, and actually have a decent shot at success."

There were several exclamations at this. The house of Strassinov was a powerful and well known one, and it was a surprise to the people assembled to learn that it was vassal to another, even one such as the Sharr.

Harry continued "Now, the Strassinovs are in a relatively strong position, but the fact is that so are their competitors. And they need our help if the war is to be won decisively.

"I, of course, could have arranged it all by myself, using a mercenary army and Sharr family resources, but I felt that it was my duty as a loyal member to cut in all of us into the opportunity."

"But how exactly would this work?" One of the members said."Say, we agree to whatever is needed, and we even win the war. Then what?"

"Why, the answer is simple. We erect an oligarchy consisting of our vassal families, and set up an unlimited source of wealth and power for ourselves, not to mention a sovereign nation's protection."

This time it was Malfoy who spoke. "Pardon me, your grace, but I believe I speak for us all when I say that this couldn't be so simple. Pardon my slang, but what's the catch?"

"Well, of course there is. First of all, there is the sheer magnitude of resources involved. I'm talking about thousands of men, years' worth of infrastructure supplies, weapons, hundreds of millions of Galleons, spent without any guarantee of return on investment, the whole nine yards. If we're going to do this, then it has to be with overwhelming force, or all we'll be doing is to drain ourselves.

"Then there is the need for absolute secrecy. Till now, the efforts of the Russian families and the ICW have managed to keep the other families from getting in, but one leak of our intentions, and all bets are off. The whole country will be crawling with men trying to carve up little empires out for themselves."

There was silence as the assembled considered his words. The money and resources were no problem for them, except maybe the manpower needed. There were very few people in the room for whom a few hundred million was anything more than pocket change, and they all knew that any contribution that happened had to be purely voluntary.

"There is, of course, no need for the question to be answered right now. We are all reasonable people, and we understand that deep thought is required for things like this."

They nodded their heads.

"That said we cannot afford a prolonged delay. I say a few hours should be enough. We meet again tonight at Lord Wiltshire's ball. I shall be delighted to receive your answers then."

The men nodded. They understood the need for acting quickly, and would prove no problems.

"Good. Now there's one more thing. We are all honest people here. Now, you, my brothers, understand that what was done to brother Yaxley was regrettable, but necessary. Don't you? I mean, you understand that it was nothing less or more than what was right and proper?"

"Of course we do, Duke Gryphonsworth." It was Bashir this time.

"At the same time, you know that the Ministry, and the commoners, they may hold a different opinion?"

They nodded in agreement.

"So…"

"Silence shall be kept, Brother. We assure you." Several people out of the mass spoke in unison.

"Good. Now the next item on the agenda is…"

Harry had spent the next several hours between the meeting and the selection of the champions in making certain arrangements, sending out letters about how the family was going out of the country on holiday. It had taken some effort to properly modify the minds of the vassals so that they didn't cause any problems about being moved into Althric businesses, not to mention the stink that the Yaxley's account manager at Gringotts had raised when he'd been informed that the entirety of the estate was now under Slytherin family control.

Of course, it paled in comparison to the benefit, as the Yaxleys' journals had revealed a lot of what Harry was currently missing, in the form of international contacts and so, not to mention the money, which was always very nice.

It had taken Harry all of ten minutes to go through everything the Yaxleys had, before he started making the proper calls and writing the letters that would see it all transferred it to his control.

Because he was currently the liege lord of the house of Yaxleys, but fealties could be broken if one knew the right magic, just like everything else, so it was best to ensure that the control he had over them wasn't solely dependent on the bond.

Once he had more time he would be taking down and recasting every single ward they had at any of their properties, not to mention replace all their keystones, replace the blood links that bound their animals to them, along with several other measures, but the money and assets would have to suffice for now.

"The Champion for Durmstrang is Viktor Krum!"

Dumbledore's voice thundered over the crowd of students assembled in the Great Hall. Harry turned his head to see the Slytherin table, from where the aforementioned Quidditch star was just rising amid many cheers and much back thumping.

As the boy made his way to the side anteroom, attention turned again to the geriatric next to the goblet. Harry saw his lips move in what was the command word for the goblet to give out the next name, before the flames obligingly turned red, spewing out the next bit of parchment.

Fleur Delacour was announced the champion of Beauxbatons.

As Harry gazed on her, he was reminded of a conversation with Salazar.

"So what exactly are Veela, in the end? I mean I have read what seem to be a hundred different texts on them, and none of them seem to agree to each other."

"Some claim that they are summer fey, trapped here after a botched summoning, others claim right back that they are succubi, yet others say that they are the bird-human hybrids that are so common in the ancient pantheons' legends as warriors, servants and whatnot. Is there a definite answer?"

"Certainly there is, child." The portrait said tolerantly."See, the problem with the multitude of texts is that they are not, in fact, stating different things."

"This is another example where the desperate hoarding of knowledge by families such as ours' plays an adverse role. As far as the Veela are concerned, if you want the full story, here it is."

A thin leaflet materialized out of nowhere on the table next to Harry.

Harry was amused, somewhat, at this casual display of the additional powers he'd worked into the portrait. Moving slightly in his chair to a more comfortable position, he started to read.

The truth about the beings called the Veela is one hidden in myths and legends, but this is what the combined efforts of generations of Slytherins have pieced together.

As we all know, there exists both in our own world and in the nevernever a particular race of human-bird hybrids. While a predominantly aloof species, they have been known to make occasional contact with humans, more often than not as servants and warriors of the various pantheons of gods that have risen.

The Greek called them Harpies, the Norse called them Valkyries, Shinto called them Kenku, while the Hindus refer to them as Garudas.

Now, another known fact is that as a race, we, humans, are intensely curious and innovative.

An example of this was seen when, at an unknown point of time in our history, a few scholars got together to experiment with these very beings. Using the spells that our kind has developed over the years to bind the different races out there to ourselves they successfully summoned and enslaved a full flock of these hybrids.

Then they started experimenting on them, focusing on whatever fields they felt like.

One of the Scholars was a sorcerer, and he had the urge to see just what would happen, were he to summon both a Succubus and a minor fire imp, and bind them to the Hybrid.

The details involved are long and complex, and can be studied in detail in the Slytherin family Grimoire, but one can just say that the result was the first of the Veela.

Harry closed the small book.

He'd later found out more about them, of course.

don't know what more to put here in the

Harry was brought out of his thoughts when the Goblet's flames turned red yet again.

Catching the parchment, Dumbledore read out.

"And the Champion for Hogwarts is, Harry Potter!"

Ahh, Showtime.

Plastering a confident smile on his face, Harry rose from his seat. As he walked down the passage between the tables to the Judges, he looked around, to find that the vast majority of the students were cheering.

Not that he missed the ugly looks on the faces of several of the Sixth and Seventh years. He could have sighed. There would be something ugly coming of it before the night was out, of that he was sure.

Still, he kept everything as he'd practiced so many times, with his face confident with just the right hint of arrogance, his walk fast but still casual enough to appear graceful.

It was mere moments before he was motioned towards the antechamber.

When he would be asked later, all Harry said about the experience was that it was a tiring one, and not one he was willing to repeat again.

Still, 'twas but a warm up compared to what he found going on in his tower.

Harry approached the oil depiction of the bleached whale in a pink dress. As he did, the fat lady looked up at him from where it was chatting with a friend, and said in a snooty tone "So, back here, are you?"

"Just open the door, painting. United we stand"

"Uh-Huh! The pass phrase was changed."

"Who by?"

"Prefect and Quidditch Captain Angelina Johnson, if you must know. She has invoked the Rite of Banishment! Oh, you will be so sorry by the time they're done with you!"

Harry looked at the painting with a critical eye. He really, really didn't have time for this. And neither could the painting be allowed to run around Hogwarts yapping about how he'd been humiliated.

"Is that so, Portrait?" He made a pretence of growling out in a dangerous tone.

"Is too!" the woman answered, as stupidly confident as ever.

"Very well." Was all he said, before raising his hand lazily.

He allowed himself a smile, as the woman went gray, seeing the ring that blazed into existence at his finger.

It grew imperceptibly wider, when the movements of the painted woman stopped, frozen in her frame.

The newly frozen painting creaked open, and Harry stepped through, to witness a rather entertaining scene. Around the fire were the prefects of Gryffindor and the Quidditch team, deliberating over a piece of parchment."

"What are you doing here, Potter! I told the fat lady not to let you in!"

"Yes, well, I think I charmed her into forgetting that."

He looked around with evaluating eyes while she sputtered. The lower years all seemed happy to see him, along with some of the seniors. The vast majority of the sixth and seventh years were a different story, though, not to mention the ones around the aforementioned parchment.

It was one of her lackeys, Spinnet, who spoke "You've got nerve, Potter, coming here after shaming us like that."

"Shaming you? I do believe I just became the Hogwarts champion."

"You cheated, POTTER!" Johnson again, now in full-on rage mode.

"Yeah... what exactly do you hope to be able to do 'bout that?"

And there went the sputtering again.

Harry took as glance at the parchment while the Captain fumbled with words. Hm... they had the votes, it would seem. Still, this whole thing was so ridiculously small a matter, he seriously couldn't bring himself to care.

"Regardless of whatever happenes here, I'm still Quidditch captain, Potter. And It'll be a cold day in hell before i let you in air as part of my team again.

Harry only rolled his eyes.

"Well, I'm heading up. Do send someone to tell me how many slaps I can expect on my wrists."

As he strolled up the stairs, Harry considered what he was going to say in his letter to Bagman 'Johnson... I suppose she's decent enough. But professional level... well, you have to see, it was mostly Wood's direction that gave us the victories, y'know. I wouldn't bet on her in a lifetime.'

"Your mother would be ashamed of you, filthy traitor!"

Well... scratch that. It seemed that Johnson senior would be losing his business, after all, once all his debts were called in, and every singly mortgage foreclosed upon.

Harry entered the dormitory, thinking off orders to Selene mid-way. He looked at the bed, and wasn't disappointed. Pranks, powders, potions, all of them positively covered the thing, not to mention the other surprises dotted aong here and there.

With an exertion of magic Harry pulled it all off, created triplicates, and recast it on every the beds of everyone whose magical signature he detected here. Then he sat down, organizing his thoughts for a bit.

About ten minutes later, Neville came in.

Before Harry could say anything, he spoke angrily, detailing Harry's 'punishments'. The Rite of Banishment was exactly what it sounded like, when the house formally rejected one of their members, and banished them from the house. They rejected all the points earned by that member, and disavowed any lost. Members were 'discouraged' from reacting to the banished member, often with force.

Harry knew all that, of course, but stayed silent as Neville explained it.

"I think they're being unusually stupid, even for them. But what I'm more interested in, are you going to let them get away with it?" the Longbottom heir finished.

Harry looked at Neville for a few minutes. It seemed that he was better at inspiring people than he'd thought. It had taken constant reinforcement over the last several days, but the results it was showing were beyond excellent. The Neville of old would never have said anything like it.

"Neville, I needed to ask you something. Let's say, just hypothetically, that you held an enormous amount of power over the students. Do you think you could keep them in check, if something happened to the prefects?"

"Well, I can't claim that I wouldn't make any mistakes, but I think yes, why?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing,"

Privately he was thinking 'Allright, Neville. You'll do.'

"Anyway, back to the morons downstairs. We should get going, shouldn't we?"

"Yeah, OK."

In a few minutes, Harry was again face to face with the grim faced 'Leaders of the house'. Before he could open his mouth, they'd thrust a scroll in his hands.

Harry opened it. Skimming over the content, it was pretty much what Neville had said upstairs, with a couple of minor diversions. He took his time going through the signatories. None of them knew it, but any hopes for the 'yes's ever having any sort of legitimate carreer were already history.

On the other hand, the 'no's' lives were already set. But all that was for later. Right now…

Harry tossed the scroll carelessly towards Johnson, smiling at the look that appeared on her face when it burst into flames at a few feet from her face. His smile got wider as she screamed, even as the scroll crumbled into soot moments before touching her.

Chuckling, he walked casually over to the most comfortable of the armchairs, which morphed into a golden throne while he was settling into it.

Showmanship was every bit as powerful a weapon as anything else, and Harry had learned from the best for long enough that by now he was the best.

As the eyes of the students widened, Harry spoke in a drawl. "Well, you're done with your attempt to punish me now, or are there more muscles that you want to flex?"

No one spoke.

"Well, I do hope that you're done. 'Coz it's my turn now."

"I mean, come on? You lot, passing sentence on me, the bloody Lord of this whole castle? Preposterous, let me tell you."

"Ahem. Let's see. First of all, there is Quidditch."

"Katie? You signed under no, if I remember correctly?"

"Yes, Harry, and I'm already off the team."

"No, you're not. Everyone else is, though."

"What!?" was the outcry.

"Yes. Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, and Weasley, you're all banned for the whole of your Hogwarts carriers, effective immediately."

Turning back to Katie, he said. "Congratulations, Captain."

Any doubts about his words died before they were ever expressed, courtesy mainly of the fact that the badge disappeared from Johnson's robes, appearing on Bell's in a small flash of light.

"Now, there is the matter of the rest of you."

"Wh-what, Potter?"

"Oh please. Ten people voted against me. Four are off the team, and the rest are no longer prefects."

He was interrupted by more flashes of light as six badges clattered to the floor.

"But apart from that… well, I'm a nice and kind person, so I won't be too harsh."

"Let's see. Permanent ban on Hogsmeade visits, along with the same on seeing any Triwizard tasks, coupled with detention with Snape for two weeks straight, to be served together. Yeah, that sounds about right."

"Well, see how easy I'm letting you off! Now off to beds you go! Toodles!"

"Oh, and Neville?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I'm sorry. I lied. What I asked you upwards wasn't a hypothetical question at all. You're appointed Deputy Gryffindor house captain, effective immediately."

With yet another flash of light, a new badge appeared on Neville's robes, carrying the Gryffindor lion with a small 'DC' overlaid on it.

"And while we're at it, Melissa McIntyre (one of the few seventh years that had voted in his favour) is the new House captain of Gryffindor. Both of you have the responsibilities of the prefects for the foreseeable future, till you give me six names that I can appoint as prefects"

"Well, that'll be all, then."

Harry strode out of the tower. As he went, he wondered about what had just happened. What he'd done was petty, small minded, and a gross abuse of power. It was something, that had there been any other way worth considering, he'd have never, ever have even thought of using.

But it was the most effective means to get his points across, so there he was.

But he could contemplate all that later. Right now, he had a ball to attend and a date to pick up for it.

Even as he rushed down the stairs, Harry's mind went back to when he'd asked her. For all his decisiveness, it had taken him nearly a full week to decide.

It sure was a great thing that, barring a few, there had never been any possibility of any girl out there refusing him, as that would've added a whole another headache. But in the end there had been very few requirements he had.

A high birth (ancient and noble and/or a multimillionaire family), the correct connections, and importantly, maturity enough to understand that going to a ball together did not, in fact, make them star crossed lovers.

Because at the current point of his life, Harry needed girl troubles just about as much as Salazar needed pants. Romance was a weapon he knew he'd have to use eventually, but it would have to be on his terms.

So… yes, the only real considerations he had right now were the practical advantage that could be extracted out of someone.

There were, in fact, limits to this however. (There did not exist any prize on Earth, including the entirety of the magical population out there swearing absolute loyalty to him then and there that could have caused him to take McGonagall, for example).

Of course, when all was said and done, he did end up asking one of the few girls who could've afforded to turn him down and not being declared insane by her peers.

Irony was like that.

Ten minutes, a quick trip to Potter Manor via the Chamber and a change of clothes later, Harry was standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest at the inner entrance to the great hall, dressed in a set of dress robes he'd bought a few days ago for this very occasion. (Pure acromantula silk, a few small jewels here and there, the best cut to be had anywhere in the world, the works.)

And then he saw her.

Now Harry possessed a perfect control of both his body and mind. His Occlumency ensured that the few emotions he felt before they were absorbed into his mental defences were so minor that they couldn't ever cause any significant effects on him.

None of that stopped his eyes from becoming glued to the figure of Susan Bones, however.

Looking at her, with her low-cut silvery-blue robes, angelic face, a set of and, well, a lot of other things that were just impolite to think, he had to admit. Dean Thomas had been right all along. Hogwarts robes were, in fact, a crime against humanity.

Still, as the girl (well, fairy princess seemed more appropriate, but still) approached, Harry's mental abilities reasserted themselves. Gaping at her like a moron wasn't a good idea, period. With a flourish, his hands disentangled themselves, a blood red rose appearing in the right one in the process.

Moving ahead, he presented it to her, lips shaping in a smile when she offered her hair for him to fix it into.

"Announcing his grace Harry, the Duke of Gryphonsworth and Parsellsia, and his companion Lady Susan, the Countess of Wyrchwood!"

Harry walked in arm in arm with Susan, meeting the looks of the room head on. As his eyes roamed, he identified both allies and foes alike, while memorizing any faces he didn't already know. By the time the ball was over he would have had at least one direct encounter with each of them, and there were quite a few deals he intended to get through on the strength of the Malfoys' whiskey.

But his attention was diverted by what he felt entering his bloodstream through his respiratory track.

Even as the Basilisk venom in his blood burned the intruder to nothing, Harry exerted his magic once, casting an identification spell.

It took effect a few seconds later, allowing him to recognize it as Mindslave Virus, which was one of the original Bioweapons developed by the Malfoys, if he remembered correctly.

The virus had been developed long, looong ago by a Malfoy who had successfully used it to enslave thirteen of his colleagues in what had been an extremely powerful police force of the then empire, (including two Eldritch family heads). He'd gone on to use them to slaughter the rest of the force, and then conquer the human portion of the whole of what was currently Australia.

The way it functioned was truly a piece of art. Once entered into a mage's body, it simply sat down and festered, focusing itself deeper and deeper, all the way to the nucleoli of the cells. As it had no harmful effects to the body at this point of time, it wasn't hindered at all by the person's magic.

Once it reached the nucleoli, it multiplied frantically, growing from whatever the original numbers were to the exact equal of however many cells were there in the body (meaning that it was inside every single nucleus of the body's cells).

This process took roughly a week, and it was after this that the other aspects came into play.

The virus, once spread into the body, started evolving, harvesting the reserves present; fat, proteins, Carbohydrates, all were used.

The evolution served many purposes. First of all, as the Virus developed, it started the work to secure its place in the body. Vital sections of important organs were replaced, the original material replaced with what the virus secreted and shaped. The important blood valves, sections of the Liver, a certain tin coating on the alveoli, it got everywhere.

At this point, its key feature was that none of the changes it was making were harmful. Indeed, the organ parts it was creating worked significantly better than the originals. But it meant that within a month or so of ingestion, the virus was absolutely vital to the body's survival, and therefore not hampered at all (indeed, actually protected) by the body's magic.

It took it nearly a month to evolve into a form where its genetic magical abilities came into play, which then started their work on the core of the person. They drew tiny amounts of magic from it, totally unnoticeable to the wizard but more than enough for them to work no end of mischief.

Then they went to their real work. Slowly, they overtook the hormonal and enzyme releasing glands of the body, mutating them (while creating new copies of the original ones so it still didn't count as harmful). What these mutated glands released was actually the most important point about the virus.

There existed a certain number of potions in the magical world that were composed solely of human parts. Now, for a capable wizard it was simple to derive the alchemical formulas of these potions, and then convert the recipes of these into a series of magical signals, which could be easily encoded into a genetic composition.

The potions ranged from mind control to pain to instant death, and the glands created by the mindslave virus could release any of them after receiving a single magical pulse encoded to the correct frequency.

This was what was circulating freely into the air of the Malfoys' ballroom, and Harry had to wonder just how low they'd fallen (Not in terms of morals, as expecting any of these from a family as old as the Malfoys was asinine). No, he wondered how far they'd fallen in terms of resources and knowledge, because for all that it sounded unbeatable on paper, the Mindslave was perhaps the weakest of the weapons they had at their disposal. For commoners, sure, it was unbeatable; but for people who'd had just as long as they'd had it to develop counters?

They might as well have tried to kill a dragon with a pebble.

It was with a moment of contemplation (equalling nearly a quarter of an hour inside his mind), that he realized that it was probably rather advanced for current times. So pathetic was the current level of practiced magic, that this was probably considered a terrifying weapon.

Of course, Lucius wasn't that hot a wizard himself. Meaning that this was probably the best he could manage.

All this passed through Harry's mind in less than five seconds, before he turned to look at Susan, realizing that she too, had noticed it.

Glancing at his date, Harry noticed that Susan too, had noticed. Catching her eye, he muttered "Problem?"

"No, not at all."

He nodded to himself. She knew how things worked, of course. An attempt like this was every bit as much part of tradition as the dancing or the wine, of course.

Continuing in, Harry nodded to several of his allies, wondering just how long it would be, before the newest topic of discussion turned to the no-show by the Yaxleys. As part of his takeover of their families Harry had sent out letters and notices, all ostensibly signed by Lysander himself stating that the man and his family were all going to go on a vacation outside the country, explaining it away with a dozen excuses, but the fact that they'd effectively boycotted the Malfoys' ball still remained.

Oh well, nothing he could do about it.

An hour later saw Harry wandering through the place on his own, Susan having gone to talk to a few of her old friends after a few dances.

Moving around, he soon came face to face with a man whom he knew by face, but had never been introduced to.

Making a slight nod, he greeted him "Commander."

"Duke," Scrimgeour nodded back.

Rufus Scrimgeour was currently one of the most powerful men in the country, and a large part of it was from the position he held.

Contrary to what several people believed, the Auror Corps was not, in fact the equivalent of the Muggle police, not even the famous Scotland Yard. That was the MLEP, short for Magical Law Enforcement Patrol.

The closest equivalent for the Aurors to be found in the Muggle world was the SOCA, or the American FBI. After all, there was a difference in the magical world between 'criminal' and 'dark wizard'. A person stealing a thousand galleons was theft, and for the MLEP, while someone raising an Inferius was the Auror's business.

One major distinction was that were they to choose to do so, then Aurors could prosecute just about anything they chose to. This meant that not only did the Aurors have much more in terms of budgets and training, but also that their powers were far, far greater.

Of course, not everything was in their favour. While the total MLEP force numbered in the thousands, Aurors were far fewer. At the basic level, there were three Aurors in a squad. A level above that, there were seven such squads in a regiment. Five such regiments made up a company, and there were seven companies in total. The leader of the basic squads was called simply the 'Squad Leader', while that of a regiment was a Sergeant. A company was led by a Captain.

Six of the Captains, leading Companies 2-7, reported to Scrimgeour, who was the Captain-Commander, while leading Company 1 himself. Of course, all these numbers were of full Aurors. At any given point of time, there could be any number of Trainees, Assistants or 'Activated Auxiliaries' attached to any level.

So, Scrimgeour was quite a bit powerful. Harry had heard the whispers on the grapevine, of the political ambitions of the man, and given the way he was staring at Harry like he was a piece of meat, he had to say that they may be very credible indeed. Oh, the man tried to hide it, but by now Harry was the better politician of the two.

"So, how are you this fine evening, commander?"

"Fine, Your grace, perfectly fine."

"Actually, I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I'm somewhat surprised to see you here. I'd have thought that the Aurors would be busy at work, what with the scandal at the world cup."

"Oh no, sir. We're more than well enough manned, especially thanks to the extra numbers we received this morning in the form of the Azkaban contingent.

"Speaking of which, I don't recall seeing you at Duke Azkaban's celebration. Any reasons you may care to share, your grace?"

Translation: Is there trouble brewing between your group? If there is then tell me so I'll take advantage of it.

"Oh, nothing much. It's just that nowadays I'm up to my elbows in work, what with Althric, studies and all. Still, Damien understands. We're relatives, after all."

Translation: Mind your own bloody business. My relative doesn't mind.

"Oh, you must understand, it's just a bit strange. In any case, is there anything I can do for you?"

"Well, to be honest… there is one thing."

Had he been any less composed, Scrimgeour would've salivated at the words, Harry knew.

"See, I've been training a bit in the last several days, learning all sorts of defensive magic. Now, I wasn't intending to make it all that big a target so soon, but thing is that mu name came out of the Goblet of Fire little more than an hour ago. Now, originally I would've learned everything at my own pace, but now with the Triwizard Tournament hanging over my head, well, I was wondering…" Harry trailed off.

Scrimgeour needed no more explanation. "Oh, of course! I'd be happy to arrange instruction for you in the Auror academy, if that's what you want."

"Well, that would be excellent, Commander, but that's not what I meant. See, the training is taken care of. I'll be getting more than enough of it. What I'd like from you is an evaluation. I mean, just before the first task, after I've done all that I can, I would appreciate if you could spare one of your instructors to come see just where I stand, so that I don't end up miscalculating my own abilities."

"Oh. Yes, certainly. You just give me a call when you're done, and I'll send someone over to evaluate you."

"Thank you, Commander."

After Scrimgeour, Harry spent several hours more meeting and greeting people, getting acquainted with strangers till he managed one of his self-set goals, while striking up several important deals.

The latter got easier as the night passed, of course, with the alcohol pouring into their systems. This was how it went, till Harry met up with Lucius, who escorted him to an inner chamber, where the other members of the alliance were already waiting.

Every single one of them was stone cold sober, thankfully.

"Well, gentlemen? What are your answers?"

They spoke one by one.

The first was Lucius "The Malfoys are with you, Your Grace. We shall do whatever is possible for us to aid in this plan."

"Same for the Notts. You have our resources at your disposal."

"I have consulted my uncle. The Bashirs, as you say, are 'in'." no guesses for who that one was.

To Harry's slight surprise, it was a unanimous 'yes', in the end. Al Capone had been right all along, it would seem. Far more could be done with kind words and a display of brutality than with either alone.

"Excellent, Brothers. We at the council shall start preparations immediately. Meanwhile, there are a few things that need to be done immediately, if you don't mind?"

"No, no, your Grace. Please." Malfoy said again.

"Oh do call me Harry, my lord."

"In that case I must insist you call me Lucius."

"Very well, Lucius. We need to act immediately. Now united in this room are perhaps the most well connected men in the whole of Europe, and we are going to need those connections."

The wizards nodded. It wasn't a question, so no answer was warranted.

"Begin with gathering a force of mercenaries. Focus more on the low cost, high number groups, as we already have arrangements for the more pricey ones. Then there is the matter of supplies. We need to get as many Erumpents, Dragons, Manticores and other war beasts as we can.

Harry started pacing slowly. "Actually, focus on the information. Find out who are the owners of the Dragon reserves and the Erumpent, Demiguise and other sanctuaries, so we can arrange for them to be bought without a trace. As for the wild animals, I would appreciate if you could get trackers placed on the more powerful Nundus and Chimaeras. Just trackers, mind you. We have plans for captures."

"Of course, a fair number are owned by us, so this isn't a very big priority, but it is a priority. Apart from that, we need more men, so any contributions would be very much appreciated."

"Understood, Your Grace. Now I'm afraid that I must go, as I've left Narcissa fielding the guests alone long enough."

"Oh, fine. I was just finishing up myself. Well, Brothers, we shall meet up in a few days to discuss the details, where hopefully we shall all have good things to say."

And that had been it for the meeting.

Harry had met up with Susan again, and they were back at Hogwarts in another half hour.

Leaving her to go to her dorms, Harry had gone straight to the chamber.

Once there, he'd entered, slept for ten hours flat, and left, before even ten minutes of real time had passed.

He had more work to do.

Harry was deep in thought. It had been hours since he'd woken up. He'd bathed, and then Apparated cross continent to one of his palaces in Moscow.

He was sitting in the study in his Erebus form, munching on a bit of toast, and thinking.

For all his need for men, there were several other considerations in play.

In magical war, it was a very stupid general who used wizards as foot soldiers. Every family worth their salt had one form of magical creations or the other to do it properly. Families with an orientation towards Necromancy used the old school Inferi and Zombies, families like the Longbottoms used Golems, and sometimes their own versions of Ents and Dryads, the Khans were famous for their Sand warriors they'd been fond of using ever since Prince Dastan brought the Empress of Time herself as his Bride, while the less said about the kind of things the Sharrs used the better.

It wasn't an absolute thing at all. All families used all sorts of foot soldiers. But it was a rough categorization.

Harry, quite naturally, had a large selection to choose form, and true to form, he'd chosen to go for every single thing he had available.

Now, the simplest way to get foot soldiers was to create them. There were many options, from transforming rubbish into stick soldiers, or outright conjuring them.

That was what the Potters liked to use, since being a Transfiguration-oriented family, it came easier to them than other things. And it provided perhaps the largest variety possible.

After all, if one could conjure a humanoid statue, and if one could conjure a flame burning at thousands of degrees, then one could conjure a humanoid statue consisting of a flame that burned at thousands of degrees.

Putting these things aside, there was the fact that not everyone was capable of such complicated conjurations out of nowhere. Harry, for one, had a bird whose flesh was molten steel, with bones of Titanium, and a permanent deep cutting curse embedded on its talons and the tip of its beak, among a whole litany of things that made the creation enough to probably slaughter a small nation.

One day, he would be able to create the bird on a moments' notice. But as things now were? A runic array could do all the needed convolutions of magic, and could simply send the near finished work to his person via runes, where he could bring them into being.

It was similar for several other things, but the author feels that the reader has been bored enough already with technical details.

Suffice it to say, that the full scale of the arrays Harry had created and put into place covered well over a several miles radius, spread over his various estates. The things they could create were limited only by his imagination, and he didn't have any shortage of that at least.

And that brought him to his current work. He had gone into the Grimoire, pulling out all the stops.

The end result was here in front of him. Over ten thousand shrunken elephant sized lions sitting in a magically enhanced trunk, with a hundred medallions in another partition in the same trunk capable of controlling a hundred lions each.

Each lion was a work of art into itself. A steel plated, titanium laced hide, concrete bones, general invulnerability to practically all Muggle or magical damage, with runes engraved that would erupt in Fiendfyre at command, with a whole lot of other augmentations.

Of course, that all was without the Gatling guns, Flamethrowers and RPGs inside its torso, also to be fired at command. Now under normal circumstances it was the height of stupidity to even propose using Muggle weapons at a magical target.

There existed wards, very common ones, which could absorb millions of watts of both Kinetic and Heat energy in seconds. That more or less rendered all conventional arms useless. But when wards like that existed, there also existed spells that could be cast on the weapons that would allow the effects to bypass said wards.

Now, had Harry released these lions at the British Ministry of Magic, he could have expected them to do vast amounts of damage before the Unspeakables could destroy them. It wouldn't be enough to destroy the ministry by any stretch, but a great deal of damage could have been done.

Where they were going… well, it was big, as in a big drop in a bucket. They could play a decent role, but millions, trillions would be needed, if he was to rely on them alone (which he wasn't, thankfully).

His thoughts were interrupted with the wards alerting him to an incoming Portkey, one of his own issued. Allowing it, he readied himself, knowing that the device was aimed just outside his door.

Within moments, he heard the knocking.

"Come in"

He saw the man enter, standing up to give a small bow to the guest.

"Well, Lord Strassinov, how are you?"

"As fine as one can be while fighting a losing fight, Duke Shacklegrave." The warlord said in perfect, unaccented English.

"Well, that can be changed, I hope."

"You have good news then?

"The best"

"As I remember, you said that your enemies the Cherinskys rely a great deal on fear and dementia spells, being mind magic specialists?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"Now, I have started talks with my nephew the Duke of Parsellsia. As you may know, the Slytherins are the best Mind specialists there are, and he was able to help us a great deal. He has started work on a series of amulets and other protection that will make your men immune with whatever tricks they pull. Thing is, they'll take time."

"Time which we don't have," the man replied grimly.

"Peace, my friend, peace. I have something." He put forward the trunk.

"Inside are ten thousand magically created lions, tough, nearly invulnerable, and utterly mindless, thus being incapable of fear. Their offensive capabilities too are significant, if I say so myself."

The man's eyes shone. He picked up the trunk, shrinking it and placing it in his pocket.

"About the other thing…"

"Ah yes. The money. Thankfully that is far easier." He said, passing a clinking pouch across the table.

"What's this?" Strassinov asked.

"Keys,"

"Keys?"

"Yes. Fifteen keys, to be exact. Each of them grants the bearer control over vaults located all over the world. Each of the vaults contains twenty million galleons, to be refilled to the same amount every Monday from today onwards."

"My thanks, Your grace."

"Think nothing of it. Now, I should be able to arrange some proper help soon, but this is all for now."

"In that case, I should depart. I need to deploy your gifts as soon as possible, or I could have my stronghold uprooted before I get back."

Harry rolled his eyes at the exaggeration. The Strassinovs were actually one of the stronger houses currently in the fray. If anything the opposition was threatened far more.

Well, to each their own.

Harry slowly finished the rest of his toast. Carelessly brushing off the crumbs, he dropped the disguise.

Stretching, he exited the room. He did not have anything pending at the moment, so he felt it was a good enough time to relax for a while.

Whoa, that's done finally.

For all Hindus, Happy Holi!