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.

16. Chapter 16

Hello people! Another chapter ready. Wonderful, isn't it?

Before you read, I would like to remind you once again. Those looking for well thought out, long term morals? Back off. Looking for emotional, tension filed drama? Back off. Looking for carefully carried out character development? Gee, what d'you think? Yup:Back off!

Looking for good, properly weighed plot development and execution? Well, you guys can stay around, I guess. Don't get in the way.

However, if you're looking for the process of the rise of the Single. Most. Badass Harry ever? Jump right in. You're gonna enjoy yourself, I promise.

In simpler words:

This story was born for the rule of cool.

This story lives by the rule of cool. It will die with the rule of cool, and it will bloody well go wherever the rule of cool takes it. Capiche?

Speaking of which, those of you who follow my other stories? Exactly the same applies. Overlord, Ocean Prince both are as close to an embodiment of the rule of cool as you can get. And loving it, by the way.

Hell, if I wrote a Twilight story it'd be about the rule of cool. So, you should get an idea of what I mean.

Oh, and before those nice guys grow frowny faces. This isn't me insulting anyone who asked me to do better character development. No, it's actually me laying out my priorities so you don't form false expectations.

Okay, on with it, then.

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Magical Russia was a very strange place, Harry decided, reading up to refresh the Nation's history in his mind.

Nearly two millennia ago, when the Roman Empire had fallen, the vast majority of families that weren't already entrenched had rushed to England, home of the newest major cluster of ley lines. Among the few that hadn't, there was the Eldritch family that were eventually known as the Romanovs.

Masters of blood magic, the Romanovs had been regional governors of the area, employing under them, among others, over a hundred Vampire Covens from all threeclans as soldiers, giving them quite a significant punch.

It was a curious set of happenings that kept them out of the race of Britain. A century or so before the shift of leylines, they had had a major crisis, resulting in massive infighting as two brothers contested the title. How this played into things was that when the shift happened, the winning brother was in the middle of mopping up the supporters of his rival. The family resources being at an all-time low, they'd known that they didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of surviving, and therefore had focused on Russia.

A few centuries later, the family had entrenched itself firmly as the unquestioned sovereigns of the Entirety of Eastern Europe, while the Vampires became their favoured enforcers.

Then came Camelot.

The Avalonian Legions, in their vast and terrifying might swarmed across the land, bringing fire and death and conquest, just like they had at so many other places.

The Romanovs held the home field advantage, but there was only so much that it counted for.

It is said that the then Lord of the Romanovs personally destroyed Six major Fey, three ranking royals each of Summer and Winter, before he was defeated by their summoner, the Stormbringer himself. Still, they were vanquished just like the others.

And just like the others, they fought hard and secured their independence, as soon as they heard of the death of Arthur and the lack of a king.

And just like all others, they too burned before the wrath of Merlin, as he came to bring devastation to them.

Eventually they were left to their devices, but not before they had suffered critical losses.

Now to understand what happened afterwards, one had to grasp a few details about the Vampires.

There were three clans worth speaking of, being the Nosferatu, the Nightwalkers, and the Sparklespires. Each was ruled by one coven each. Each had its own powers and weaknesses.

How this played into the Romanov's history was due to what happened in the immediate aftermath.

There is no creature on the planet that can replenish its numbers as fast as the Vampire. This is a simple magical fact, and it was felt keenly by the Romanovs, as their blood sucking vassals were the first to return to near full power.

While any ignorant person would think that a good thing, the families had all played the game for a very long time, and they knew that this was not going to end well.

It didn't.

Much can be said of what happened afterwards. Tens of thousands were sent to their graves, with the majority of them not even having the fortune to stay in them.

But the end result was that while Russia and the cluster of four lines still remained in the family, the Vampires had secured their independence, carving out what the Muggles of today called the Iron curtain countries. It was at this point that familiar names started to emerge.

The rulers of what was today Romania was the House of Drakul (because contrary to popular belief, all but one of the clans could, in fact, procreate).

Austria and Hungary of today both became the domain of what was called the House of Corvinus, while the third, the ones called the Voltur, took for themselves the region of Ukraine and parts of its surroundings.

The Romanovs were damaged severely by this, but they managed.

Fast forward several more centuries, and one got to the eleventh century, when sitting on the throne was a rather unusually clear example of the dangers of inbreeding.

Making the single stupidest decision in the history of the country, the imbecile monarch decreed that the Muggle and magical communities would be separated by royal decree. This had been compounded by his second, equally asinine action of selecting a Muggle Tsar almost just as stupid as himself.

What happened afterwards was known to anyone who had access to a library. At least, till much later. This was how things had continued for several centuries, the nation engaging in fight after fight to reclaim what the Vampires had taken from them, all the while witnessing as the Muggles gleefully marched into disaster after disaster.

Sometime in the sixteenth century, the reigning Tsar decided to overturn his ancestor's decree. Selecting a new squib, he ordered little Mikhail to be made Tsar of the Muggles.

The consequences of this were slightly better, but the end result was close enough to the original conditions that it didn't make all that much of a difference.

Till the eighteenth century came, and with it the first real understanding of just what wealth lay beneath the ice. Both the magicals and the Muggles were blessed at the time with the person who was the single greatest Monarch in the history of the Muggles, and among the very best even for the magicals.

He is today called Peter the Great.

It was under his rule that Russia knew true greatness.

As all good things, though, it was not to last.

The next few monarchs were of a steadily decreasing quality, till the inevitable catastrophe came, in the twentieth century, with the rise of the Dark Lord Rasputin.

To make a long story short, the dynasty ended, and Russia entered a civil war that would see millions dead before long.

'I wonder what the Muggles would say if they knew just how much of Stalin's actions were a cover up?' Harry thought, closing the dossier with a snap. It was part of the standard briefing that would be issued to the troops, just waiting for his personal approval.

He had ordered for them to be made in a casual, layman style so as to get the point across more clearly. He could only hope he succeeded.

He made a few minor changes, before scrawling 'Approved' across the document, followed by his signature. It disappeared with a small pulse of magic, even as he heard the slight sound of the printers activating in the next room.

It had been three days since Samhain. Three days that had seen Harry functioning with a workload that was more than a quadruple of what would have seen just about anyone else in a coma.

On the average day, (if there was ever such a thing), Harry tended to rise at four, five AM by normal time, and then train in his magic and his body for eight, ten hours straight in things that people normally learned over a course of months, pausing only for a short meal. It was rough, brutal work, as he summoned spirits, practiced casting entire enchantments first in the form of simple spells and then as mere manifestations of his will, worked on causality manipulation(very much what it sounded like),along with the martial arts skills he'd learned, truly internalizing them, developing them even more into a lethal art form.

He enhanced his elemental powers, focusing on all four of the elements, he grew plants using his druidic powers, he derived rituals that could be used to enhance himself, and that was just the start of an endless list of other things.

Then, bone tired and half dead, he would crawl back into bed, and sleep.

Getting back out six-seven hours later, he would summon the mountain of paperwork that was required to ensure the smooth functioning of two conglomerates, fourteen dictatorships (at least), nine banks, any number of drug cartels, gangs, and an assortment of other concerns. Even taking into account that he'd used magic to enhance his brain to supernatural levels, even concerning that only the most important topics were ever sent to him, most of the matters taken care of courtesy of the arrangements he'd made in the respective countries, even taking into account that Selene and Salazar already weeded out a huge part of what was sent to him, it took at least four-five more hours to take care of it all.

Of course, this was compounded by the fact that the only documents he signed in his name were the ones for Althric, everything else bearing names like Samuel Phoenix, Slobodan Milosevic and Boris Yelstin. Once he signed it, the documents were transported by extremely secure means to the desks they were supposed to be at, courtesy of Selene.

Then, it was studies (his way), as he used the connection he had with Selene to absorb a full dozen books' worth of information.

As soon as it was in his mind, it was time to meditate, cross referencing the information he took in with what he already had, deriving new spells that could be based, and other things that any team of researchers would take weeks and large amounts of money to tell him.

Once he had mastered every bit of the knowledge into his mind, it was back into bed, for another several hours.

After that, it was time to face the day.

When he left whatever acceleration field he happened to be using, it was around 6, 6:30.

That day was no different. Harry left the chamber, going straight outside to get some fresh air.

He jogged a few rounds around the lake, refreshing his lungs, before he asked.

'So, what's on the agenda today, Selene?'

'You need to test the last ones of the current batch of weapons before they can be sent for mass production, Harry. After that there is the meeting with Malfoy and Nott, then you need to make visits to those Spanish contacts of Yaxley's in the Knights of Aragon, after that there's the trip to…'

'Okay, then let's get to it.' It wasn't quite pleasant or easy, trying to do so many things at the same time, but then few things worth having ever were.

Before long, he had gonethrough Basilisk glare lamps (exactly what it sounded like), Sonomorte rockets (basically adult mandrakes stuffed in small glass orbs with a handful of mud, tossed from launchers to go far out of the earshot of the soldiers, and into the earshot of the enemy), and a whole lot of assorted nastiness that he had set aside for the Russian campaign, before he checked his watch, and Apparated to Potter Manor, where the meeting was scheduled. It was his third or so meeting with them in his own form, and they were far from being out of the stage when impressions mattered.

It took him several minutes to get himself ready, but at 10 O' clock exactly, he had the incoming Floo requests. He allowed them, and greeted his guests as they came.

It was after that nearly a half hour of pointless small talk (unbearable to him but a necessity), before they got to the point.

"So, gentlemen, please give me some good news."

Nott answered first.

"Gladly, your grace,

"I think that you'll be pleased to know that, between us, we now own every single band of mercenaries to be had on the continent. Apart from that, sir, here is the list of the individual high flyers, as requested. Tap any of the names and it becomes a full dossier on the person in question." He said, placing a piece of parchment on the table.

Harry was impressed. Looking over the list, he nodded slightly. He had identified and traced several of them himself, but quite a few had been unknown to him.

"And you Lucius? How is your 'special' task?"

"Going well, sir. There are a few of the Italians and some Asians left. It'll take another two days and a few more million galleons, but we will have total non-interference from the ICW, the guilds, and the other problematic organizations."

"The contracts, if you please"

Lucius nodded, putting down a sheaf of papers on the table.

"Some of them gave some trouble in signing them, but the majority have agreed happily."

"And the families? No one knows?"

"No. As you said, the promises were all extracted by a number of pretexts. In some cases we're a company interested in marketing some products, in others we're looking to set up shop with a few bands of mercenaries, things like that."

"Good."

And it was an extremely needful thing. Four ley lines and a population potential up to three-four million wasn't something to be laughed at, after all. No one could be allowed to know.

It was a strange thing, actually. Wanting to conquer the nation and bring peace to it was a very bad thing in international eyes, more than enough to get the soft, fat fools at the ICW, the Conclave and all those organizations to start yapping about 'expansionism' and 'dangerous ambitions' .

On the other hand, causing more deaths by capitalizing on the weapons market to sell things banned just about everywhere else was accepted. Encouraged, even, albeit quietly.

It was sick, venal and disgusting, but it was the way things were.

Still, this wasn't the time to dwell on such things.

"And what of…"

Harry wondered why things like this kept happening to him. It had been a simple plan. Yugoslavia, in its long and bloody civil war, had had thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of deaths. He'd intended to go there, set up a few crystals to absorb all the Necro-magic in the air, visit the mass graves to raise the dead as his soldiers, and go back.

He'd even completed the job for most of the country, with the only parts left being a few minor villages in the region of Skopje. Even there he'd already 'visited' the graves that he'd personally caused to be dug (the entire military, economic and political leadership of the erstwhile Republic of Macedonia, back when he'd been consolidating 'Milosevic's' conquest).

Really, all that had been left had been two or three pits, each containing around a thousand bodies or so, and he'd have been done.

Somehow, his luck had managed to twist that into what he was doing right now.

Namely, trying to subdue a dozen full grown Cerberuses in a dungeon without releasing enough magic to trigger every magical sensorfrom there to he been the type, he would've cursed long and hard.

Because, well, hadn't the fact that there was very little magic in this region been his original reason for operating there?

Still, there was no point in whining.

Harry grunted as he released a set of binding enchantments from his fingertips. Chains of pure magic flashed into existence, wrapping around the heads of several of the beasts and dragging them to the ground. Even as the heads neared it, pillars of Earth rose with a thought, spearing seven heads from the chin to the ears.

'Two down' Harry thought.

Yeah. Two down, and one in such pain that it died in moments from the next set of Harry's spells. Then it was the defensive, with Harry casting blocking and shielding spells, while looking for a way away from the beasts. The smallest of them had to be at least two thousand years old, and they were fit enough to give him a workout.

That meant they had the space and the need to hunt, to run around and basically have a lot of exercise. If he could find it…

Harry's thoughts were interrupted as a head of one of the beasts snapped at him. He pulled back his fist and punched it between the eyes, watching with satisfaction as the skull caved in.

Those rituals worked as they were supposed to, then.

His mind continued wandering even as his instincts guided his body, dealing death and maiming with every step. It was that way, till- 'there'. Harry thought to himself.

He saw it again, and was sure of it. It was a tiny discolouration in the spell matrix, a spot from where the locking enchantments seemed to hinge. Harry rapid-casted several detection and analysis spells at it, smiling when he saw the result. Sure enough, it was a key, meant to open whatever enclosure the beasts were kept in.

He realized that the spell must have been triggered when it detected him, and it must have released the Cerberuses then. Given the lack of any door, that meant magical transport. So, if he could trigger the spell again, convincing it that he was dead, it was more than likely that the same spell would take the animals back.

Well, that was easy. Harry thought for a moment, focusing on his magic. Immediately afterwards, his aura, or 'magical signature' as some would call it, disappeared, to be replaced by death magic that had the exact same tinges as any released at his death would.

Sure enough, his sight saw the wards flash once, before he was alone with the corpses of the beasts. Still keeping his aura down, he cast a simple piece of magic, keeping him from being detected by the detection spells in the wards.

Now free, he looked around, trying to understand the nature of the place he was in.

It was old, that much was obvious, and not just old in the 'couple centuries' way. This place had seen true age. Judging by the age of the Cerberuses, it was at least two thousand years old, perhaps more. Looking around, Harry would have loved to explore it, but he was currently rather pressed for time. He closed his eyes, trying to manipulate the wards. Soon enough, he had a connection to them. He carved a few runes in the walls. Runes for tracking, signalling and identifying, and he twisted the essence a little, allowing himself the equivalent of what modern crafters would call a 'guest access'.

Moments after that, he was gone.

He appeared in the location for the next mass grave. Here there didn't seem to be any ancient dungeon, so he went to work. His powers over death seeped into the Earth, shaped by his will and his words. The black energies continued to pour out of him, till a saturation point was reached.

Soon after, results showed as old limbs moved again, the Earth bubbling and turning as half decayed corpses walked out. Within minutes Harry was looking as a small sea of the undead, ready to do his will. But they would need conditioning first.

Thankfully, this was the last grave.

Harry spoke a word of power, willing the Inferi to be linked to him as he Apparated them all to Castle Potter, all the way back in Britain. In the attached lands was the factory he'd set up, where these would now be going.

Sure enough, Harry Apparated to the sounds of a factory busily at work, as the Inferi from his previous trips were processed.

"Selene. Scan them." Harry said tersely.

"Underway, Harry. Full analysis is complete in T minus 4…3…2…1.

"Scan completed. The number of bodies here is one hundred and thirty number of soldiers you can have out of them is an exact hundred."

"Lucky that." Harry muttered.

"Very well, start processing them."

"Initiated, Harry."

Harry watched as the Inferi disappeared, appearing on one of the mass conveyor belts. The belts would carry them to sarcophagi, and the process would start.

First, the remnants of flesh would be removed from any of the bodies, broken down into the mixture of proteins, carbohydrates and fats that comprised it. Then, the machines would go to work on the bones. The Calcium would be partially liquefied, so that it could be compressed to increase the density of the bones. At the same time it would be laced with a mixture of titanium and artificially created Mithril and Greek Bronze (created through alchemy, far inferior in quality than the originals but enough for such uses). The same mix would also be used to recreate any missing bones.

At the same time, several of the bones would be hollowed out, to be fitted with magical crystals that would allow for a whole lot of funky options. Among a whole lot of other operations both scientific and magical, the bones would be saturated with a medley of potions, followed by thousands of miniature runes being carved into them.

Once the work with the skeletons was complete, the flesh would be brought back, but far tougher and durable than before. Harry had to be careful in this, as too many artificial parts would result in the necromantic magic failing to take hold; but he had carefully found the optimal points, so it wasn't too big a concern.

Once these operations (along with a whole lot others) were completed, the magical aspect would begin.

This Harry would have to do himself involving invoking several ancient powers and binding these bodies to himself, along with granting them necromantic protections against harm and damage. One of these was the inability to sense heat or the colours of fire.

That would allow them to fight in the middle of a raging fire, which, coupled with the fireproofing spells he'd included placed them among the finest specimen of undead on the planet. The final step was to cover them in armour, by fusing inch thick sheets of iron to their bodies. In addition to physical protection, the Iron would act as a secondary layer of protection against magic.

Harry's own magic, being already inside the body, would act just fine. Others? Not so.

All of this was what passed through Harry's mind in less than five seconds, as he gazed on the corpses that were even now entering their sarcophagi.

The evening finally found Harry back in Hogwarts, where he had just started his first steps in correcting the deficiencies of one Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood.

"I can teach you several things I've been taught about transfiguration or offensive and defensive magic, but the fact remains that none of that will be worth anything if I can't teach you to protect your mind." Harry said, pacing around the current form of the Room Of Requirement, watching Neville and Luna sitting in a lotus position on the mats the room had supplied.

"Now, calm yourself. Focus on your breathing, let go of all worries. Be relaxed."

Even as Harry started the lesson on Occlumency, his mind wandered back to the time he'd learned an important lesson about the art.

"Salazar, I've mastered my mind. Why is it then that I can still feel some emotions?"

"Ah, child, I was thinking when you would ask that. See, the answer is very simple. You have mastered your mind, yes. But this does not mean that no more emotions are produced within your psyche."

"But-"

"Let me finish. What happens is that emotions are still produced in your mind just like in any other. The thing is, with your mind as tightly arranged as it is, they are rapidly absorbed into the defences, where you have already made the settings to use them."

"So for the few moments that they're loose, that's when you feel them."

It had been an important lesson for him to learn, and it was one he intended to make sure Neville and Luna mastered as soon as possible.

Even as his new 'students' worked on their minds, Harry categorized all the things he himself needed to get ready. He had progressed somewhat in training his elements abilities, focusing on fire for now so as to increase his chances against the dragon. At the same time, his abilities in chaos manipulation were rising sharply, directly corresponding to the proportions of the all-powerful energy flowing through him.

Through the next several days, Harry continued to work at the same breakneck pace, developing his business, political and personal interests with the fervour of a man possessed. As such, it wasn't long before the time came when the first task descended on him.

He woke up just as early as ever that day, having duelled no less than six separate Auror trainers the day before. It was a testament to the young prodigy's talent that not one of them had left Hogwarts under their own power, despite the fact that the youngest among them was four times his age. Still, a great deal of work had been done apart from that. The first batches of his vassals were coming out today, and he had already arranged scheduled meetings with them. They would be instrumental in establishing the coming war, of course, but also in the workings of Althric and Phoenix.

Before long he was walking out of the champions' tent near the Dragon enclosure. As his luck would have it, he'd drawn the Horntail, the single most dangerous of all the dragons here, which had also meant that he was the last to go.

As he walked, his eyes focused on the enormous reptile ahead of him. He had to admit, it truly was a magnificent specimen. The black dragon, with her wings spread protectively over a clutch of eggs amid which Harry's target glinted, glared at him, as if defying him to come any tail carving out yard long gashes in solid rock.

'More is the pity' he thought.

As he approached, the crowd seemed to explode in a mix of cheers and boos, divided almost equally.

He paid them no attention. Moving ahead, he released his breath in a very specific pattern, causing a very specific set of glyphs to glow for a brief moment.

With that, all the rituals he'd done over the last several days came active, and he knew that he was now about ten or so times faster, stronger and with sharper senses than most of the humans around him. He'd have to be careful not to show it, of course.

As he advanced, Harry's wand leapt to his fingers, ready to release a rain of magic at his command.

With every step he took towards the dragon, its head seemed to tilt just a little bit more in his direction. Soon, recognition of the challenge flared in its eyes, and its teeth were bared. That was all the warning Harry needed, or indeed, would get.

It was on.

Black curses left his wand in a barrage, falling not on the Dragon, but on its wings. There wasn't even the slightest effect, but that was fine; Harry hadn't expected any. The spell had been meant to judge the strength of the dragon's hide.

He now knew.

Too strong, at least for direct magical attacks (that he could afford to use in public).

Still, there were other ways.

A simple twirl of his wand and a Parseltongue spell later, the crowd gasped as the earth rose in the form of five enormous anacondas, four wrapping themselves around the limbs of the dragon, the fifth trying to wrap itself around her throat.

The dragon was too quick, however, as the snake crumbled with the jaws of the beast closing around its head.

Still, it wasn't needed. The snakes around its limbs would confine the dragon well enough for Harry's next spell to work perfectly.

Sure enough, the snakes had just begun showing the first cracks, when Harry's spell erupted from his wand.

It was a multi-layered spell, a result of four hours' research; that would ensure that the dragon was put firmly out of commission for the next several hours, and Harry would be home free, having aced the task.

It was at precisely that point that things went to hell.

Harry would later be able to make perfect identification, but at the time he was just as surprised as everyone else, when several jets of light came from the audience.

Several things happened. Harry's spell was parried harmlessly into the ground by the spell that met it midair,the anacondas that had bound the dragon crumbled away into dust, along with the enchanted chain that the organizers themselves had used. Along with that, Harry could see the tell-tale red jet of an enragement curse hit the Dragon.

As if that wasn't enough, Harry detected the 'crack' of several people Disapparating at once. That was all he needed to realize that the assailants, whoever they were, were gone.

Still, he had bigger problems, namely the dragon that was now rearing its head back to release the fire that would make a kebab out of him in a second.

As Harry brought his abilities as a water elemental to the fore, preparing to take on the dragon directly, he realized he'd forgotten something. Every danger sense he had screaming at him; Harry jumped away behind a rock, as the Dragon's tail descended at the exact spot he had been standing on a second ago.

It was at this point that Harry felt the doubts hit him full force. What was he doing here? He was no heir of Slytherin! What kind of warrior was he, that he didn't even detect the tail till it was almost too late? Self-doubt, anxiousness, nervousness …everything that had, till this point, been kept securely in designated areas of his mind, to be thrown at any intruder, came pouring out, dulling his instinct, and suffocating his logic.

For a few moments Harry was the scared little boy again, the pathetic worm whose biggest dream in life had been to be 'just Harry', the slave of the Dursleys, the creature that could very well be regarded spinelessness incarnated.

He seemed to cower behind the stone, trying to melt into it so that the dragon didn't notice him. Of course, this tiny movement was more than enough to make the dragon focus its attention right back at him from the crowd where it had been starting to look.

With the fire still building up in its throat, the dragon prepared itself to utterly destroy the one who'd dared attempt chain him.

It was a pivotal moment in history, one which could have brought a grinding stop to the onward movement of the saviour of magic, which would have allowed the wolves of society; the corrupt, venal and weak creatures passing themselves off as leaders to continue uninterrupted in their works, by ridding them of the assured destruction that they never would've known they faced, and doomed to the world to an eternity of disgusting mediocrity.

Thankfully, it passed.

Even as doom approached Harry in the form of a muzzle full of Dragon-fire, something awoke within him.

It was something cold and terrible, something that had seen eons pass and millions murdered. It was vast; vast and so, so old.

An involuntary shiver passed through Harry's spine, and the doubt, the insecurity, the nervousness all ended, completely obliterated before the power that now surged through Harry's mind, when instincts older than time itself rose from the innermost depths of his soul.

The thoughts in his mind changed with everything else, adapting to the instincts now a part of him.

'What was he doing? Him, hiding from a pathetic half-breed not even a century old? And this, this worm trying to pass itself off as a dragon, it dared roar in his presence?

'Let alone that, at him?

'HE WAS A BASILISK!'

It was with the icy rage of the King of Serpents in his mind; that Harry stepped out from behind the stone.

At this point, many experienced people in the crowds could be excused for the fits they all suffered at the sight. To understand the reason one would have to grasp a very simple thing.

For the duration of Harry's performance, they had seen a confident, extraordinarily talented young man, who was just a little bit arrogant, facing one of the deadliest being around. When he'd ducked behind the stone, they had seen the same young man unnerved, and the dragon highly enraged.

Now, things were different.

They were two of a kind.

What followed afterwards could only be called a massacre.

Harry stepped out from behind the stone. Immediately, the Dragon released a jet of fire straight at him, engulfing him totally within the flame. The crowd gasped as a whole, while several people screamed.

After a few seconds, the vision became clearer, as the flame receded. For a few seconds they were puzzled. The Dragon could hardly stop the flame before it had expended all the magic it had built up. And given that it had been gathering magic for the past several minutes, the flame should last another minute at the least.

Then they realized it.

The flame wasn't receding.

It was being pushed back.

They watched in awe as wonder, as Harry became visible again, like an ancient god of fire out of the scriptures, his hand raised in a careless gesture. They watched and cheered, as bit by bit, the flame was pushed back into the dragon by the strength of Harry's fire affinity.

Several people in the crown gained expressions that wavered between overjoyed, interested, and terrified. Nor were they alone, as the cheering from the Hogwarts students was now louder than ever.

After all, say what one would, but there was nothing more awesome, more inspiring or just plain cooler that a fourteen year old making a dragon quite literally eat its own fire. Casual as ever, Harry raised his other hand, and snapped his fingers.

A set of chains of alchemical Mithril appeared midair, wrapping securely around the dragon's jaws in a movement so fast that the number of people that followed it could be counted on one hand. Its hold was strengthened by the runes that glowed upon it after a lazy flick of those very fingers.

While the dragon struggled to save its insides from being roasted, another casual gesture brought into being a flock of Rocs(Birds of Arabian legends, each a quarter of the dragon's size). Careful observation would have revealed that their talons and beaks were in fact metal, and were sharp enough to cut through solid rock like a hot knife through butter. As such, they'd at least be able to make small lacerations against the Dragon.

Harry was far from done, though. Yet another exertion of his magic caused the rocks lining the arena to rise, before a whispered word recreated upon them the spell matrix normally found on a Bludger, with a few minor modifications.

The strength of the spells became obvious, when the rocks, each several tons in weight, rose and moved away from the Dragon. Before anyone could so much as say 'strange', they reversed track, gaining tremendous amounts of velocity before slamming into the Dragon.

Again, they floated away, and they came back yet again, faster even than last time. This time there were several audible cracks, as the dragon'sbones crumbled within its body. Even as it seemed to sway, they reared back yet again, prepared for a third hit.

After that, it was a matter of minutes before the Dragon's situation became untenable. The vast majority of its bones were broken, its lungs and internal organs were so much charcoal thanks to its own fire, and deep gashes were opening up on its hide as its magic weakened.

But it was still a dragon, as proven when it made its final attempt.

Gathering the last of its energy, the Dragon jumped forwards, intent on crushing Harry under its own weight.

Harry took a step back, before realizing that he wouldn't be able to cover enough distance to get out from under the dragon.

The crowdcried out, horrified, as the enormous black lizard covered their hero, till they saw what was happening.

The top of the Dragon's head seemed to strain, before it was penetrated by the tip of what was probably the biggest spear any of them had ever seen.

And then it grew, till the whole assembly could see the Telum Ferra spear act as a prop to hold the dragon upright, while skewering it through the jaws.

For several minutes, there was absolute silence, even as Harry became visible, resting against one of the spines on the Dragon's back.

A fourteen year old wizard, sitting on the back of the Dragon he'd just killed, whistling as if he hadn't a care in the world was an odd sight, to be honest.

And then it was broken by the cry that came from the Ministry box. No one quite realized who it was that said it, but soon "DRAGONSLAYER!" was being cried out by everyone as far as could be seen, in tones full of a savage thrill that reminded one of ancient Rome's gladiatorial shows.

Harry himself climbed to the dragon's head, before bowing elaborately to the crowds. He maintained the same showmanship, as he walked, casual as anything, to the clutch of eggs, picking up the golden egg.

The cheers continued as he bowed again, before putting the egg away in a pocket that looked too small by far to hold it.

The same cheers became quiet, when Dumbledore raised his hand to get their attention.

"The points, my fellow judges?" he said.

Bagman raised his hand, releasing a ribbon of light that formed into a 10 above his head. He was followed by Crouch, who gave another 10, and then Maxime, who, once again, gave 10. After that it was Dumbledore, who released a 9 in the air, followed by Karkaroff, who gave a 7.

Before long, Harry was back in the Chamber, after having endured several congratulations among the Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and even a few Slytherins (that reminded him, he'd have to actively start his efforts to cultivate them, now that his power was proven beyond a question).

Out of the Gryffindors Neville, of course, was welcomed wherever Harry went, but apart from a few others, he flatly refused to see anyone, let alone talk to them.

Another thing was the sabotage. Harry had enquired, and had been told that the best teams of the DMLE were on the case. Harry had an idea of who it was, and he knew that not even the best the DMLE had on call could hope to track the man unless he made an unusually big mistake.

It was several hours afterwards, when he finally got some time alone, that got the time to practise his transformation.

Harry allowed the transformational energies wash over him, as he stepped out of one of the chamber's many exits, this one right in the middle of the forbidden forest.

He'd turned before, but it had never been, well, real, so as to say. He'd always felt as if he was faking it, and that moment was when he realized that he'd been right.

He had been faking it.

All thoughts faded from his mind as the pain started, sparking along his spine and ribs and running down to his tailbone. Harry bit back a scream as his spine grew hundreds more vertebrae and his ribs and lungs extended. The rearrangement of his internal organs hurt horribly, but Harry knew that it was a very needful thing, if he was to ever complete his transformation.

Slowly the pain subsided. His senses had changed, and while he could not feel his arms or legs he didn't feel like he was missing them either. Momentarily he could hear, then his eyes changed and he felt his nose vanish.

Harry flicked his tongue out and in and a wave of smells washed over him. The scent of the forest was rich, smelling of wood, wildness, and blood long spilled. A few smells; acromantula and centaur and unicorn sent the thrill of hunt racing through him, bringing out racial memories that were eons old.

Then he calmed himself with a deep breath and forced his eyes open.

And it was everything he'd thought it would be, and so, so much more. In his Basilisk form, he could feel the terrible power of the venom in his throat …feel the heat signatures of everyone in the castle all at once…

He could feel the psyche of the snake, of the King settle into his mind. Any doubts he'd ever had, any hesitations, he could feel them wither away and die under the venomous power of the basilisk.

It was time to hunt.

Harry crawled through the forest for what seemed like hours, going nowhere in particular; just acclimatizing to the new senses he could feel, and to the new way of thinking in his mind. The wandering wasn't due to being lost or any other problems; no, his instincts guided him, and he realized that he was spreading his scent throughout the forest, marking it as his territory.

Of course, while his wild instincts guided his motions, he was also aware of his plan, of the rather significant acquisition that he intended to make tonight. But it wasn't something to worry about, as he had everything he needed in the pockets of his human form's clothes.

Before long, he was in the same area from where he and Ron had run away two years ago. As soon as he approached, he could feel the vibrations as many-legged creatures scurried to escape, trying to run away from their certain death. With a thought, wards he'd previously placed in the area came to life, trapping all of them in the area.

Then the slaughter began.

Harry carved a bloody swathe through the acromantula. Killing them with every gaze and bite he made. His was a relentless advance; unstoppable and utterly devastating. At long last, he came to the very heart of the hive, where the biggest and oldest of the acromantula sat. Harry continued to move, circling around Aragog, killing off several of the spiders who would have protected the elder.

Then, once he was confident of himself, he turned back to human. Immediately, he was attacked by several spiders, rushing to kill or eat him, he knew not, neither cared.

With a gesture of his fingers, they died, turning to soot before a blaze of Dragon-fire that erupted from his fingertips. Dractarye was such a powerful Parselmagic spell, although it required that the user kill a dragon before it could be used.

That, apparently, was all it took to terrify them into submission.

Harry looked around the clearing, challenging any other critter to dare meet his eye. None did.

At length, the big ugly itself spoke. "Have you brought war upon my hive, Harry Potter?"

Well, spoke wasn't quite the word. Harry had been too scared two years ago to think on this, but the spider didn't have vocal cords capable of human speech. No, it was more of a mental projection of thoughts.

"Should I not, Hive-master Aragog? Two years ago, it was your hive that tried to kill me, and you would have succeeded had it not been for luck.

"Now I have the power to avenge my humiliation, tell me, why should I not?"

"Indeed." was all the acromantula said. Harry could have smiled. It was always nice dealing with realists, who knew how things were done.

He held the Acromantula at his mercy, and that meant that his word was law.

That was all there was to it.

Because whatever the pansies and 'rights activists', and the other spineless crowd had to say, the basic fact of the world was that might did, indeed, make right.

It was that realization in his eyes that the spider called Aragog stared at Harry's feet, knowing that it was either extermination or eternal slavery for his hive now.

Of course, given that Harry had a brain, the obvious choice was the latter.

Aragog himself realized it, his eyes gaining a small glimmer of hope, when Harry said his next words.

"But don't worry. I have use for you, which means that you won't be dying just yet."

He cast a simple spell at Aragog, used in tracing genealogies. On the floor of the forest, blood started pooling around Aragog's feet from the corpses of the spiders around them. Moments afterwards, a line of blood emerged, going over till it connected the pool to an acromantula that was dying with half its side charred.

Harry snapped his fingers. A branch from the nearest tree elongated behind the creature, pulling itself back while morphing into an odd shape that resembled a cricket bat.

Its shape wasn't the only thing of it that resembled a cricket bat, as was proven when it hit the spider with enough force to demolish a small building, tossing it high in the air in exactly the right direction that would cause it to fall straight in front of Harry.

Harry cast a second spell, placing a stasis mark on the eldest child of Aragog, before he brought out a very special set of tools from his pocket. It consisted of a set of brushes, some candles, and a set of ritual knives.

With a bit of wind manipulation, he cleared the ground of any leaves or parts, while another portion of his mind created a dome of pure fire, encompassing both himself and Aragog.

He went to work immediately afterwards, hands painting out a symbol on the ground using spider blood, while the candles floated in the air, waiting to align themselves.

It took several minutes; in which Aragog made an attempt to kill him leading Harry to cut off all his legs; but soon the preparations were done.

Harry spoke the words of power, invoking his defeat of the creatures, casting the spells on their blood, and, well, doing what was needed to bind the creatures to him. It was a long process, but his patience was rewarded when he saw the sigils appear on them, confirming his mastery over all of them. He did the final component, which was to kill the eldest son of the clan being bound, using the necromantic energies thus released to forge the final link of the chain.

All done, he told them he'd see them again later, and Disapparated to the chamber.

As Harry lay on his bed, aware that sleep would soon take him, he considered what anyone would say if his actions were found out.

It was pretty certain that he would be branded a dark wizard, maybe even a dark lord.

For some reason, that made him frown. He didn't exactly realize why, but he felt an odd distaste for the idea.

Dark Lord Potter… it sounded much more suited to a group of people than him. And not just any group, but one of those particularly pathetic groups of stuck-up, narrow minded bullies who made a point out of actively opposing all innovation and originality.

Oh well. He was too tired to think about all that right then.

The next morning saw Harry working, yet again, on Luna and Neville. They had really come far, in that both of them had mastered just about everything from the first three years' syllabus of Hogwarts. Harry's efforts to teach them Occlumency had also paid huge dividends, as could be seen from the fact that both were now much calmer and more collected than they had ever been. They were comfortable in their own bodies, and around him, which was a very major thing in his eyes.

Still, there was a long way still to go.

There were some facts about the old castle, Harry pondered, which would never touch the pages of Hogwarts: A History.

One of the examples was the location he currently was in.

The sum total of people who knew this could be counted on one hand with fingers left over, but the lands where Hogwarts stood had once, back before Britain became the most valuable ground on the planet, been the home for a rather powerful Caledonian tribe. (On a different note, a few standing stones, with massive preservation spells, could still be seen in Hogsmeade)

Then, of course, Rome fell, the families came, and a major cluster of nine secondary ley lines formed bang where the home village was located.

The first family to come here was a rather minor one, and lacked the resources to do what had always been the best form of magical war; which was to swoop in suddenly with overwhelming force, kill every able-bodied person, and place everyone/everything else under binding spells.

As such, the tribe, being far better versed with the local terrain, and most importantly possessing a larger force and an excellent Chieftain, actually made a very decent attempt at resistance.

Now one thing to understand was that minor though the family was, they were still an established family, and had been doing for a long time what the tribe was just beginning to learn. So, outright battle against them was a very bad idea, as the defending tribe learned after taking heavy losses. So it had to be guerrilla warfare.

Well, they were good at guerrilla warfare. Whereas most would have tried to run and hide, they chose to dig. They didn't have any technology; no massive enlargement spells to make horse-sized rodents to dig (a very popular method then and now for those in the know), no summoning magic for Earth spirits who could dig out the Cardigan bay in hours (That was what the Potters did to hide another major cluster), no Djinns, no Inferi that could do the digging.

What they did have was an ant-like capacity for hard work, inexhaustible patience, and raw cunning. They also had a budding crop of enormously talented Earth elementals, and others perfectly willing to help them. It can never be properly expressed just how deeply and how widely they dug, but over a course of years the whole ground below and around the Black Lake for miles on end became a warren of intensely magical tunnels, caverns and passageways.

The family, as things happened to be, was a rather unimaginative one, having been started barely a couple millennia ago amid the finest luxuries of Rome (Yes. A couple millennia ago in the finest luxuries of Rome). They had come expecting a token resistance, and hardly realized that the natives were, in fact, fighting back before they were gone, extinguished by a more talented family.

Whether or not the newcomers would have fared better can never be known, as by now another family, a Very major one, had mopped up the last resistance in its own chosen home grounds, and had come looking to expand. Its name, by that time, was Slytherin.

Well, the family was added to the Slytherins' ever growing list of vassals, but by the time the tribe got an idea of what was happening, snakes of all shapes and sizes had poured in, and the entire force was dead after severe pain.

The Slytherins took over the tunnels, widened, deepened them, lined them with torches, enchantments, created out galleries, dungeons, weapon warehouses, and a lot of other fun stuff.

Skip to several hundred years later, and one could have seen a Lord of the Slytherins taking one of the biggest caverns, and making it into a very specific chamber, before taking a dozen or so of the nearest tunnels and blocking of the rest with special seals that could only be opened on command.

The rest, as can be said, was history.

How this played out for Harry was evident when he looked around himself, looking at the hissing and crawling reptiles that swarmed the miles encompassing tunnels.

It was the first time he was here since the first week of summer, when he'd taken out a huge number of snakes of all varieties from both the chamber and the vaults, set them loose in the appropriately prepared sections (the preparations mainly being in regards to climate), dumped ten thousand or so corpses of humans with a similar number of rats, rabbits, and other animals (these ones being alive, of course.), assigned half a dozen elves for anything else (such as gender changing the snakes for maximum breeding when required, and a regular but very slow course of aging potions), and then put it all away to the back of his mind.

It was one of those elves that he summoned now with a snap of his fingers and a sharply spoken "Elf!"

"Franky is here, sir. What is you be needing?"

"Bring me the breeding bookfrom the study"

"Yes, master."

It Disapparated with a mild pop, appearing moments later with a thin hardback journal, bound in thick maroon binding.

"Anything else master is needing?"

"Not really. You may go."

It disappeared with another mild pop.

With a thought, Harry conjured a comfortable chair, while at the same time casting an air circulation spell (Not charm), along with a Lumos Sol.

He flipped through the book, enhanced eyes taking in every word in less time than it took an average person to read the title. (He loved blood magic rituals).

Hmm… this was very good. The aphrodisiac enchantments in the walls had paid off, it would seem. The rate of breeding had been well over twenty times normal. Nor had it had any adverse effect, thanks to the spells he'd installed so as to protect them from the downsides of their own increased, ahem, activity.

Where he had placed a dozen adolescent Ashwinders there were now over a hundred adults, showing a truly huge gain. Those 8 million galleon lava pits had paid off, then. Tartarus pits, he reminded himself. He'd bought them in Greece, acting as a friend of a friend of a friend who might be interested in supplying an eccentric curio collector.

It was worth it, though. Adult Ashwinders of the proper bloodlines had been known to melt through solid, magically enhanced rock, among a litany of other equally impressive uses. Of course, far more value lay in the fact that if one knew the right ritual, that particular power could be granted to any snake, not to mention, and this was the most important part, to himself(This was a long ways away, as committing himself that strongly to Parselmagic so soon could hamper his other abilities).

The numbers were similar for the other species, whether it was the Himalayan Ice Adder (which he had big plans for against the Siberian families in the upcoming war), to the White worm snakes.

But he had spent too much time here already. He pulled out a bag from his pocket, which contained little rings embossed with numbers, before pulling out a trunk from another.

Putting them down on a conjured table, he pulled out a piece of Parchment, filled it out with a list, and then summoned Franky again.

"Yes, Master?" the elf asked in a questioning tone.

"In the trunk, there are several cages with numbers stamped on the bars. Fill them, with adults only mind you, to the numbers on the list. Then attach the corresponding Portkey rings to the cages. Understood?"

"Yes, sir"

"Good, if you need any clarifications, use the mirror I gave you for emergencies. Rest assured that if you get it wrong I'll toss you in a pit full of them with your magic bound."

That was the note on which Harry Apparated away, mind already on the next item on his agenda, which was a meeting with some representatives of the local and provincial magical schools of Britain. (Less than twenty percent of all school age magicals attended Hogwarts, after all).

Eight hours after Harry ordered the elf to send the snakes over to the proper places, a car, a Ferrari of the latest model, as a matter of fact, could be seen going 190 km/hr. at a stretch of road located on an island that didn't show up on any maps. As the car approached top speed, the driver, a young man whom the Muggle world knew of as Samuel Phoenix reached below the steering wheel, and touched a small rune.

Its effect could be seen when the car became impossible to detect. At that time, there did not exist any Muggle means to know that the car was there. It had no heat signature, it didn't ping on radars (if any radar ever worked on ground level, that is), it was intangible, and it had no radio connection. Even the magical methods that could be relied upon were few and in far between.

The need for such measures became evident, when the wheels of the car left the ground. As the height rose steeply, the occupant could be heard to be making observations.

"Launch stabilizers are working perfectly, speed enhancement is powered and showing no hint of strain, cloaking is holding… Alright, let's see how quick this thing can really go!" He muttered, before flooring the accelerator. As the car jumped straight to 1100km/hr., a message flashed on the windscreen.

"Hmm… ok, speed-seal one encountered. Further acceleration available only on authorization, well, let's hold off on that right now." Harry said.

It was as near to perfect as things ever got, Harry thought. He had spent weeks at the drawing board for this model, which he called EFA-4 (nothing fancy, just Experimental Flying Automobile, four because the first three had failed, and he wanted to remind himself of that. No ego for him, never.)

He was currently cruising at 1100 km/hr., and the fact that he wouldn't even have realized it had he not been looking out of the window was enough for him to grade that the stabilizers were working well.

Now for the other things: Over the next several minutes, Harry pulled the car into dives, corkscrews, straight near-crashes, and every single aerial manoeuvre known, and more than a few unknown to man. Here he had another thing for which he was thankful to blood magic rituals, because without them, gravity would've done a lot of funky things with his blood.

Still, the car withstood everything without even a mild strain. It helped that Harry could simply ignore the biggest worry in such things, of course. Magic and conventional energies like heat and electricity could be converted into each other without too much trouble, and such was the ratio that a crystal that could power a Patronus charm for ten minutes could also power a Muggle metropolis for half a dozen years.

So… fuel concerns? History.

And finally, there was the war potential. Even a car like this carried enough firepower to wipe out most Muggle air-forces put together. (It carried spells that could conjure Sidewinder missiles, along with a long, long list of other things).

Still, annihilating the air forces of the world could wait for when he was really bored (along with plans like taking the latest weapon plans of the US army and faxing them to Pyongyang, or hanging the POTUS from the statue of liberty just to see what would happen afterwards, especially if he left a Chinese intelligence ID card lying around nearby).

Wrenching his thoughts to the present, Harry let loose with a salvo of weapons, destroying several targets he'd just conjured. One by one testing the weapons, he satisfied himself with their functionality.

"Ok, so the weapons are excellent. Now all that remains…"

Harry turned the nose of the car west, while tapping a few runes and setting a course for Las Vegas, and launched forwards, intending to cover the seven hours distance in a matter of minutes; which was a very much possible goal, given that the car jumped straight to Mach 9 on receiving his authorization.

Cruising through the air, he used another rune to bring down the roof (of a car whose makers had never intended for it to be convertible). As before, the spells to maintain human life inside the car no matter the circumstances held strong.

Resisting the urge to take a brief look at Mariana's trench with the roof still down (he'd done that before), he went ahead, while consolidating his plans in his mind.

It was to be a week-long trip (by real time standards, which meant that he would be spending quite a bit more time than three months. Not that all of the time would be spent in America) There were three destinations; Las Vegas, Monte Carlo and New Orleans.

By the time he was done, he would own at least a full dozen casino-attached hotels throughout America, setting up a firm overseas base for Phoenix Gambling. He could've ordered reports and made the purchases remotely, but in his mind buying something without testing and probing it properly was out of the question.

Of course, there were other things he needed to get done, too. He was carrying, in bottled form, thirty separate refineries that he had would be landing in Colombia, to produce a quality of Cocaine that would make the current levels look like baking soda. Similarly, there were Methamphetamine labs, huge quantities of cheap, raw liquor, among other things.

Of course, in addition to the fact that these 'products' were, at the minimum, about ten times as addictive and destructive as the originals, there was a very special 'magical' surprise hidden inside them.

Still, all that was for later times.

Harry allowed himself a small smile, as the Ferrari touched down on the drive-way of one of his Mansions.

Over the course of the next several days, the Casinos of Vegas, New Orleans, and Monte Carlo lost several hundred thousand dollars, before the owners lost the casinos themselves, signing them away for pittances. Harry placed Serpent-Sworn marks on the managers, and promoted the most competent among them to Director, American division of the new branch of Phoenix Inc. He also 'landed' his more illegal holdings in their appropriate places, but not before giving commands that ensured that none of the product they supplied was ever sent to Britain or the Commonwealth.

In a matter of years the Muggle future generations of every country other than his own would be left hollow, dried out husks, and he intended to take great advantage of that.

While this was happening in the States, (that is, throughout the week following the first task), war preparations were carrying on full steam in his properties in Britain and Russia, while Harry had also made more than a few public statements. A small smile grew on his face as he remembered a particular question.

"Your Grace, What Prompted you to continue the task, even after you knew it had been tampered with?"

"What else would you have preferred I do? I'm British. I carry on."

It had won him big points, and he knew it.

Speaking of the media, 'The Witches' Hammer' had come out, and its result, from Harry's calculations, was proving to be quite beyond excellent. It would provide much fuel to the anti-Muggle politicians, in addition to the small but significant subculture that was building up momentum in the Ministry and the Wizengamot thanks to the articles over the last several days.

Of course, Harry had been careful not to overdo things. The articles had caught the Liberals completely off guard, causing more than one speaker to sputter and choke, but it had to be stopped now. The crescendo was done. The iron had been duly heated and struck when it was the hottest. Now the populace had to be given time to let these thoughts fester, let them think endlessly on this, and draw their own conclusions. The effects would have to be allowed to set in, so that when the inevitable series of Pogroms against the Muggles (not the Muggle-Born. Never any magicals) began the public would have had enough time to wonder on the concept that the massive answer would be "Why Not? They do it to themselves and us often enough!"

From tomorrow onwards, the cover page would be devoid of any such articles, filled instead with Harry's own deeds over the past several years. Ronald Weasley, Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger had received significant amounts of money from an anonymous source for the memories they had 'donated' (they'd woke up missing the memories, along with keys to swollen accounts under their pillows and memories of selling the memories to unnamed individuals who never showed their faces.)

After all, while information about the events about the happenings had to reach the public so that Harry could get them to believe it on the strength of his defeat of the Dragon, he couldn't afford to be seen as tooting his own horn. This also nicely tied up several loose ends, such as them knowing the Chamber's location and about the Acromantula (which, of course, were never going to be published in any account).

Over the next several days, the average wizard would come to think of Harry as a pseudo-demigod, which was exactly was he intended, if he had to get anywhere with proving himself as Dumbledore's successor.

To be honest, it was slightly embarrassing, but he'd long since grown past his 'Just Harry' ridiculousness. After all, he had done those things.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted when his spells alerted him to an unfamiliar presence around him. He reached out with his senses, and soon realized who it was.

Jasper Harkins, aka Willmont Archley, aka Nightshadow, former American Auror, wanted for first degree murder in nineteen countries, for 'Unsanctioned paramilitary actions' in another twelve, for Terrorism in seven countries. Extremely talented and expensive mercenary, he was one of the most dangerous men on the planet. Harry had tracked him down several weeks ago, and gone in as an unnamed client to place a hit… on himself. (It was the most effective way to get the man)

As the man approached, Harry kept himself still, as if he wasn't aware of the man at all. He waited for Harkins to make the first move. The man was well known for his preferences for direct attack, never bothering overly with subtlety or clever plans. Such was his power that he could generally batter through anything an opponent might put up, and kill them with brute force.

Harry's senses alerted him to the man's spell, and he had to raise an eyebrow.

He knew expecting restraint from such a person was an exercise in futility, but still…

A triple-layered combination of mummifying curses, eviscerating spells and immolation magic was impressive however you looked at it. Most people would be dead very, very painfully before they so much as realized what was happening.

The key being 'most'

With a lazy twitch of an eyelid, Harry overrode the mercenary's will embedded in the spell, turning it back on the man. Before the man recovered from his gasp, Harry released a Kaze Yaiba, a Japanese wind-spell at the man.

The assassin dodged it with a quick movement, before releasing a set of spells at Harry. Harry created a five foot wall of solid rock, taking the spells head on. It was a testament to the man's power, that deep cracks spider-webbed from the points of impact, causing the wall to crumble mere seconds later. The exchanges continued for several seconds, Harkins doing his best to murder Harry, Harry testing him, probing his strengths and weaknesses.

It wasn't long before Harry was satisfied. He was going to end it, when the man shot off another spell. It was the 'Pain of Sand' a cross Egyptian-Persian spell, that caused an automaton of sand to take shape, snapping its jaws at Harry.

Throwing an arrogant smirk at the man, Harry deconstructed the spell, before saying "That's not how you do it, dear. Ponno Tis Ammou" He said, a torrent of sand pouring from his wand tip, releasing a set of ten constructs at the man. Before he knew what was happening, each of Harkins' limbs was broken, while he was fixed firmly in six sets of jaws.

Harry allowed him to be like that for several minutes, aware of how terrible the pain must be, before speaking. "So…"

He had to give it to the man. There was not one expression on his face, as he said "So indeed."

"Well, what will you do with me now?"

Harry explained what he was going to do. It took a lot of haggling, and several pain spells applied repeatedly, along with some mind magic, but eventually he had it. Namely, the man's oath of vassalage, which made him bound to obey all of Harry's orders, in the spirit of them, without hesitation or demur, expectation of recompense or, indeed, any basic human rights. (It was actually a wonder how far a creature that thought nothing of slaughtering thousands would go for its own life).

Harkins was the ninth mercenary Harry had 'converted' in this way, and he certainly wouldn't be the last. It was a fairly common method to gain vassals, actually. Get someone to attack you, or attack someone, bring them to the brink of death, then offer a choice between eternal servitude and immediate, torturous death. Any person with even a single backbone (out of the 32) would choose the latter, which perfectly explained why this only ever worked on sell-wands, mercenaries, criminals and the other dregs of wizardry.

Oh, and on politicians, but that was obvious.

It was a little known fact that almost the entire early followings of all notable wizards with Imperial Ambitions; Voldemort, Grindelwald, Emeric, Rasputin, Uther, etc. had come from these personal conquests.

Harry was an Aristocrat, so he could simply use an oath. Voldemort wasn't one, hence the need to use the Dark Mark.

One way or the other, Harry dispatched the man immediately with a Portkey straight to a detention cell near one of the strongholds he'd setup in Russia. There, he would be tested to see if the oaths had taken properly. If yes, then he was to be healed, and went to the Strassinovs wearing Harry's colours.

If not …well, he would still go to the Strassinovs, but much later, as an Inferius.

Of course, that brought Harry to the single most important event of the last several days.

The first batch of his vassals had come out from their training.

It was three days after the task. Harry was waiting at Peverell Hall, where one of his largest time chambers was located.

"So, run the latest reports by me again. In full detail."

"Sir. As of the last week, the agents have exited the chamber several times. Their trainers, who all have now been sworn to secrecy, and at great expense I might add, have stated that their training is the best any of them have ever seen. Since these trainers are retired soldiers, Mercenaries of the more respectable sorts, retired Law Enforcement personnel, professional Muggle spy-trainers, martial artists-"

"I know who all I chose as the trainers, Selene. What I want to know is if they have done what they were paid to do."

"You did ask for full detail, sir."

"Knew I should have programmed you with less sarcasm."

"With respect sir, that would have left me worse than-"

"Oh, for magic's sake, Selene, get on with it!" Harry wasn't quite exasperated, given that it was magically a near impossibility for him, but damn if this didn't come close.

"Of course,your lordship."

"Twenty-five thousand people, coming from a variety of villages, cities and lands were entered into seventy time chambers a little more than a month ago. Most of them were to be trained in combat magic to form a militia, but a certain number had been set aside to work in the lands themselves, and yet more to act as spies, executives, healers, scholars, and other civilian roles."

"Out of these, there have been some casualties, some injuries, but the vast majority have benefited enormously. Right now, two companies of soldiers, and the entire contingent of civilians, some five thousand people, have completed all parts of their training. They have had regular excursions into the outside world, they have been taught history, the economics as it is nowadays, and all the other aspects.

"They are, to make a long story short, ready. All that remains is for them to be handed their assignments.

"After you met with the designated leaders among them last week, we prepared a detailed list of assignments, which are saved in my memory, awaiting your authorization to be released."

"Okay, was that so difficult? Anyway, the authority's granted. Do it."

"Acknowledged. Printing copies now."

The injection of hundreds of absolutely loyal, highly capable retainers in his businesses was already paying huge dividends. Overall production had risen steeply, now that capable officers could execute his orders effectively. A whole lot of ideas had been handed to them allowing for him to focus on his actual priorities. Apart from that, agents had been deployed all over the world, taking effective command of the rapid expansion of both Althric and Phoenix. Harry had announced simultaneous grand openings in France, Spain, Meluha, Swadeep, Persia, MS of A, and, well, just about everywhere really, a task that would have been near enough impossible (Nothing was truly impossible with magic), without the huge workforce he now controlled.

Of course, the behind-the-scenes story was a different thing. The Muggles were simple enough, but several magical countries had actually threatened to violate his patents if he didn't "get off his arse and get to it".

Not that legitimate enterprise was everything he needed them for. Even after covering every need thrice over, the sheer level of competence his vassals had meant that more often than not, each of them could get more work than twenty of the next-best-trained. So, he had devoted a significant percentage into forming a spy network throughout both the Muggle and magical worlds. In the Muggle, all it took was to give them tertiary command of the Serpent-Sworn marks.

Not only did this free him up significantly, it also meant that he could now actually do something with the colossal cabal instead of just having it sitting there. He had big plans, and this would allow them to go into operation.

In the magical realms, however, things were more interesting. He diverted a small but significant portion of his gigantic illegal wealth accumulating every week in the Muggle world, and set them to meet people, take them to expensive restaurants, pay them certain amounts of money, make deals with them, give them 'gifts' and do everything else required to get their hooks into them.

In this way, he'd divided up almost the entire number, putting them in place so they could contribute to moving his plans forward. And if the vast majority of those jobs landed them with excellent lifestyles, well, he owed them that much.

Speaking of vassals…

There was someplace he had to be right now.

Harry's face morphed into that of Aries Black, robes changing into an elegantly cut suit, before he Apparated soundlessly.

He appeared in a Muggle area.

Walking briskly ahead, he spotted the house he was looking for. Within a few moments, he was ringing the doorbell.

The door opened to reveal a middle aged, balding man, with a rather oversized belly.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Mr Tonks?" Harry asked.

"That's me. What do you need? Look, if this is about those Credit Card things-"

"Oh no, Mr Tonks, this certainly isn't about any Credit Cards. Indeed, I'm here to talk about your daughter." Harry folded his hands as he said this, allowing the sleeve of his suit to ride up just the barest bit, which was all that was needed for the tip of his wand to become visible.

Tonks looked him up and down, apparently sizing him up, before his eyes eventually went to Harry's arms. Noticing the wand, he got the message.

"Well, you'd better come in. She's not here, by the way."

"Oh, that's fine. I don't suppose your wife is here?"

"Andy? Sure she is." He said, before ushering Harry in.

He led the way to a large, comfortable sitting room, before showing him to a sofa.

Harry noted the well hidden signs of Magic throughout the house with a slight interest, before settling himself on the sofa.

He almost immediately rose back up, seeing the woman he had come here looking for, the ever-so-formidable Andromeda Cassiopeia Black coming into the room.

She didn't notice him immediately, focusing on her husband.

"I heard the doorbell, Ted. Who was it?"

"Oh, Andy, this is Mr – oh goodness me, I didn't even ask his name! How rude of me."

"That's no problem, Mr Tonks." Harry said smoothly. Turning to Andromeda, he said. "My name is Aries. Aries Black."

As soon as he said the name, he could practically feel her eyes focusing on his hand, looking for the ring. The moment she beheld it, her eyes changed.

And it wasn't just her eyes, either. Her whole attitude changed, shifting to wariness and distrust in an instant.

"Is it now? Well, Mister Black, what do you want?"

"Can we please drop this charade, Andromeda, dear? I'll excuse you not bowing and kissing the ring for this once, and that's only because I know the kind of things that were said to you."

Of course, it was probably not the right thing to say, as the couple's eyes got even colder, looking almost prepared to throw him out.

"You didn't answer the question. What do you want?" Andromeda's words started becoming heated. "Silence, dear. I actually was being perfectly honest. I did come to talk to you about your daughter. Just cleared the Auror Academy, hasn't she?"

Still, wary, the woman answered him. "Yes. What about her?"

"Oh, it isn't anything exactly about her right now, per say, but rather about what will happen in the future."

"Oh?"

"Yes…'Oh.' Because you see, Andromeda dear, I have an interest in dear Nymphadora."

"You do, do you?" This was the husband, apparently in full 'angry father' mode.

"Yes, I do. And I must say, keep on using that tone, and I'll be bound to develop a rather different interest in you, too."

Maybe it was the power that lurked throughout Harry's form, or maybe it was the sheer menace that was the undercurrent of his words, but something changed in the room. Ted Tonks looked at Harry in the eye, and all of a sudden, quailed as if he'd been hit on the nose with a sledgehammer (a very effective method to make people quail, by the way).

"In any case, let me come to the point. Tell me, Andromeda, just how high in the Ministry hierarchy do you think your daughter can hope to rise, with a Muggle-born for a father and a blood-traitor for a mother?I know that you understand, don't you?"

"I have no idea what you're saying."

"Come on, Andy, this is no time to show the Black stubborn streak!"

"Do not refer to me so familiarly, sir. I know not what you mean."

"Well, let me enlighten you. The last war killed off just about any leadership talent the latest generation of the so called 'light families' had. As a direct result, fourteen years ago, Lucius Malfoy came to unofficial power in the Ministry of Magic of The Magical Realm of Great Britain. After that, he started, using his enormous wealth and power, to enact a number of changes throughout the ministry.

"Well, I could go on about the changes in detail, but the thing is, that currently the Ministry is rotten to the core. Just about the only things that matter are blood and wealth, with talent being a distant third. Now, your daughter has enormous talent (Harry had to give it to himself, saying that sort of thing, without breaking out in giggles, about an airhead who couldn't put one foot in front of the other without crashing was an achievement onto itself.) But the fact is, she isn't going to go anywhere in the Ministry, unless she has a powerful hand over her head, a patron, so as to speak."

Harry paused to look at the two of them with a smirk. "Now, I would be delighted to be that patron, but I thought of someone better."

He paused once more, for effect. "Namely, I thought of you."

"Us?" the faces were less wary now. Confusion dominated them, not distrust.

"Yes. See, I happen to have a number of Wizengamot seats under my control, and several among them come with rights and titles attached. "

"So…, I was wondering, how'd you like to be a Lady again, Andromeda?"

And there it was, the wariness, back again, full blast.

"And in return?"

"Oh, the usual, swear eternal loyalty to me as your liege, carry out the duties involves, etcetera, etcetera."

They pretended to think it over, unaware that he could see every thought that formed in their minds as clearly as if he was thinking them himself.

A few minutes later, Andromeda asked.

"May I and my husband talk on this alone, Your Lordship?"

"Oh, certainly. This is your own house, after all."

"He walked into the adjacent lobby, settling himself down on a chair that appeared even as he made to sit.

His ears could hear every word that was spoken, but it was hardly worth the time, given that just about every third sentence out of the woman's mouth was 'We have to ask Dumbledore!' or some variation thereof.

Eventually after what seemed like a lifetime of boredom, they came out into the lobby. Looking at their faces, Harry could confirm what he'd already heard.

"We're really sorry, Baron, but we can't accept your generous offer at this time." Andromeda said her face the very image of apologetic sincerity.

He might even have believed that she was actually sorry, had he not been able to hear the 'Chew on that, you bloody bastard.' in her mind.

All he said was "Oh well, never mind."

He moved as if going towards the door.

Being ahead of him, Ted moved to open the door for him.

He had just opened the latch, when Andromeda died, courtesy of the spell that decorated her walls with her brains. Before he realized what was happening, Ted Tonks was hit with an extremely weak cutting spell in the back of his throat. It was all it took to paralyze him from the neck down.

Harry twitched his wrist thrice, and within seconds Andromeda's shade was present in the lobby, standing over her corpse.

Deciding not to bother with words anymore, he pulled out a piece of parchment, and set it down on thin air, before pulling a quill out of another pocket. A murmured spell saw Ted Tonks' soul sacrificed as the price for his wife's shade to sign the document in question, with the shade disappearing as soon as the deed was done.

It took Harry fifteen minutes to erase all signs of him ever having been there, along with laying the groundwork for the story that would be known to the people. One of the Tonkses had misfired a spell, starting a fire which had grown too fast for them to manage to get out of the house.

It was a magical accident, something that was a dime a dozen in unfortunate households.

Meanwhile, Nymphadora Tonks would see herself all but destroyed without a place to go or anyone to care for her at all. The Tonkses had few friends in the magical world, and even the few that were there would back off after hearing the rumour that a rumour might be going around that the all-powerful Aries Black could possibly have some slight interest in the young trainee Auror.

Speaking of trainee Aurors, it was a rather funny thing that Harry already outranked her.

He fingered the badge in his pocket. It denoted him as a trainee Auror first class (as opposed to Tonks' third class) attached to Senior AurorAnthony Proudfoot. Scrimgeour had been most insistent, going on about how Harry had broken all records ever set, and how there had to be some tie in between him and the Auror department.

It wasn't as if Harry hadn't expected that to happen. That would actually have been a rather strange thing, given that he'd planted the idea himself. Still, the man's fervour had allowed Harry to wrangle more than a few concessions out of the man, which was always nice.

Of course, what Scrimgeour didn't know was that by then Proudfoot was more or less a rubber stamp for Harry, which allowed him unprecedented leeway. It also gave him a solid 'in' into the Ministry, to be used in the future.

Of course, Harry had made a point out of ordering that every Knut that comprised into his salary, unbelievably pitiful as it was (by any standards, not just his) to be donated immediately to St. Mungo's.

Speaking of charities, there was a meeting he had to attend.

Harry Apparated straight to Diagon alley, mere feet from Gringotts Bank.

He made his way in to Grithlauk's office without so much as glancing at the guards. Going in, he saw that Talbot was already there. After exchanging pleasantries with the man and tossing a cursory nod at the goblin, he settled into the offered chair.

"So, Lord Talbot, is it done?"

"Yes, sir, you only have to sign here. The contract contains all the details we agreed upon."

Harry looked through the thick sheaf of papers, reading through it at a twentieth of his actual speed. He completed it in three minutes, before setting it back at the table.

"Very well, gentlemen," He said, before signing the bottom page, an act that fully brought into being the Potter Foundation, the charitable trust that would now be pouring money into anything Harry wanted it poured into.

As its first act, the smaller subsidiary of it, the James Potter Quidditch Trust, would donate twenty thousand galleons to Hogwarts School, to finance all the Quidditch needs for the current year. Harry knew that it was enough to fund the sport for the next hundred years, but it suited the loose fisted, open hearted image he was fostering.

Immediately afterwards, the same Foundation donated another fifty thousand galleons, again to Hogwarts, to the Care of Magical Creaturesdepartment, for better animals and enclosures, and another thirty thousand to the Herbology department, to build new greenhouses.

The funny part came when Harry signed the orders as Lord of Hogwarts to have those very places built by Althric Inc., thereby having the money rotate back into his own hands.

But there was a difference. Now, it was lily-white.

Because harry had a very unique cash flow problem. A problem so unique, that he was probably the only person in the world to have it. Every month, over half a billion pounds poured into his accounts from those of gangs, cartels, dictators, and perfectly innocent citizens. They were split down the middle, half stowed away into Muggle accounts, half converted into galleons.

As a result, too much was flowing in, too little was going out. He had stayed ahead of the problem by opening truly ridiculous numbers of accounts, but even that was starting to be a bother. Of course, no bank official could ever tell anyone just how much he had, not with the Magicals bound in Blood oaths and the Muggles failing to grasp the very concept of betraying him, but the very fact that they noticed it was an advantage he was unwilling to concede.

Of course, now that his manpower problem was solved, the accounts would be balanced very soon, but things were delicate till then.

As his last act at the bank for the day, Harry arranged for a trust fund to be set up in the name of one Nymphadora Black (not Tonks), not as a part of the charity but as a part of the Black Estate. It would have a small but exceedingly comfortable apartment in the middle of the west end of London, a bank account carrying an even one hundred thousand galleons (with the capital being untouchable for the beneficiary), and all the assorted benefits therein.

He would arrange for word to reach her officially from Gringotts. All she would have to do was to renounce her Muggle name, and swear to him. If she agreed, well, her Metamorphmagus abilities and her Black blood was why he was doing all this. If she refused for any unreasonable amount of time… well, blood and DNA from a dead one would do just as well.

And the end for this chappy.

Bu-Bye.

blackshadow111