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.

21. Chapter 21

Okay people! As promised, before February, here I am, with the latest chapter of the story you all know you love!

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It was a bright and calm afternoon.

The sun was raining its fury, hard, at the landscape, as if it didn't agree with what was happening that day in the palace, at the heart of Russia.

No matter, not even the sun could do anything to stop it.

The voice of Dmitri Strassinov was bright and clear, full of a strange relief and joy only one who has fought and won a magical war can understand, as he spoke "Do you, Vladimir Tremelinsky, swear to protect and guard the people of Russia?"

"I do." Harry Potter, in his newest alternate identity, said.

"And do you swear to rule and administer these lands with a fair and just hand?"

"I do"

"Then it is with great pleasure, that I, Dmitri Borisov Strassinov, now anoint you as Vladislav the Seventh, Tsar of all the Magical Russias. May you rule well." the old man solemnly intoned. Far less solemn were the cheers that filled the courtyard, saturating the air with calls of "Long live the Czar" and "Hail to the King".

Meanwhile, from his position on the ridiculously extravagant throne, Harry, now Vlad; as far as this country was concerned, smiled. It was a good smile, suiting the new face he'd donned. High, sharp features, albeit a bit harsh, cerulean blue eyes, jet black hair, he was the picture of Russian handsomeness. Let Strassinov think that it was over. The fact was, the true game had only just begun. And as he smiled, four gemstones, artfully placed in his throne, glowed ominously, as the connection was reaffirmed between them and the primary keystones of the country, forming a secondary controlling tether that tied the ley lines to the title of Tsar, next in power only to the first tether that tied them to Harry personally.

After the ceremony was over, Harry retired to his chambers, turning back to his original looks. He took a few moments to activate a simulacrum (one that had been bloody expensive and difficult to create, given that it could actually cast magic and pass for him under even the closest examination) that would keep the Russian looks, but then he was off, straight to Wilmington Hall. There were plans to carry out.

"It is done, Harry."

"Oh? Well, how many did we manage, in the end?"

"There are roughly forty thousand women hidden throughout Russia, Harry. Muggles, most taken from a variety of locations throughout Russia, but quite a few have been picked up internationally." The voice of Selene was low, cheerless. If Harry hadn't known that the AI was incapable of it, he'd have thought it didn't think what he was doing was right.

Well, Harry didn't think it was right either. Picking up girls from all over the world, from slums, from asylums, from dead-end hospitals, it was a distasteful task. Made more so when the first thing he did with them was for them to be 'prettied up', meaning treatments to remove whatever superficial blemishes they might possess… it was an operation he didn't quite consider prudent.

Of course, it was the only option available, so it was what got used.

"Very well. Start informing the men of what they need to do. Schedule the first round for a week from today, and start them on the potions regime."

"Will do, Harry."

Harry sighed lightly, as he considered what he'd just done. Distasteful, as he thought before, but necessary. After all, this was a simple numbers game. He had roughly seventy thousand British vassals in total, with acceptable male-female ratios and genetic diversity. Meaning that as far as his estates were concerned, the populations were in order, and they'd continue to grow.

The whole wide world, on the other hand…

The simple fact of the world was, wizard-kind was dying. There were a total of three hundred and fifty thousand magicals in the isles, and if they added up the protectorates, the number was still less than a full million. Hell, the whole of Europe had less than ten million people.

On the surface, it looked like things weren't that bad. There was hope. However, one would have to remember that the Eastern Empires, against whom they would eventually be pitted had over fifty million people at a conservative estimate. That sort of disparity… it simply couldn't be made up without drastic measures being adopted.

There was another factor involved, of course.

That in part, the problems were due to social norms. Harry had every intention to grind those norms into dust, so there was hope for a solution from that angle. But as said before, it would be too little, too late.

So… it came to this. It was SPEED, the Special Population Enhancement and Enrichment Directive. Under it, a large number of muggle women would e collected, healed of any diseases they had, fed, treated all around decently and, not to put too fine a point on it, turned into brood mares for the next generation of wizardkind.

There were potions, good ones, which would ensure that every birth would be of Trizygotic triplets, other pieces of magic that could be used to ensure that the children would be magical, it was all very methodical and concise.

But it still involved Harry signing orders to turn every male under his control into a stud.

He'd cursed himself for the very idea, back in the chamber, but it'd stuck to him like a leech, disgusting in its nature but fascinating in the sheer number of problems it would solve. Long dead bloodlines resurrected and bound, prominent names serving his cause with the blood to prove it (behind this was another story involving the serpent sworn, genetic records and squib lineages), the whole 'extinction problem' solved… it'd been too good to pass up.

After all, fifty thousand women meant one hundred and fifty thousand babies in nine month. out of these, there could be what, ten, twenty thousand squibs max? That still yielded a 'crop' of over 100,000 new magicals, from which the most powerful, gifted could be put through magical adoptions. That would give them the names, and Harry could create any number of 'family fortunes' with a single signature. Voila, long lost purebloods, dedicated to him and his clans.

Then another crop, conceived about three months after the first ones were born. Then another, and another, all at similar time periods. One woman, under the finest treatments money could buy, could undergo over a dozen such births without any problems whatsoever(Especially since Molly Weasley had done something similar without any treatments). That would solve most of their problems right there!

Not that he would stop with exhausting the current number of women he'd captured.

Of course, it would require a titanic amount of infrastructure to properly manage the baby boom, but it was more than doable. 10 room flats for all his vassals, plus a thousand galleons an year allowances per baby, and he had the first few generations taken care of already. Not to mention the recent boom in house elf populations, with the massive amounts of work they'd been doing.

And then there was the 400,000 thousand population of Russia, most of them women and old people who'd lost husbands, brothers and sons in the civil war, and would do anything for another chance with a child.

No, it was doable, it was necessary, and it was already underway. With successive 'crops' being born every nine months, and then taken in and out of time acceleration at regular intervals (too much exposure to time magic at an early age could have very harmful, and more to the point, unpredictable effects), he could have a whole generation at Hogwarts age inside of the century. And then, with the acceleration times increased, he could have adults in a matter of months after that.

But the fact still remained that he'd turned Russia into a giant stud farm.

Of course, humans weren't the only beings he was taking steps to ensure massive population booms of. He had a truly massive collection of magical beings. Snakes he'd repopulated to a significant degree, and also used with great success in the war. But still, the more the merrier, and that went for all beings. So he currently had vast populations of Snakes, Dragons, Nundus (with permanent breath masks on), Cerberuses, Dire Wolves, you name it, and between climate magic allowing him to fake breeding seasons, and gender switching magic to maximize the number of females, there were massive booms underway at one or the other of his farms.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"This way, your grace" The man was cultured, the very image of humble elegance. He had to be, in his position, as an usher in the employ of the ultra-upscale Guild of Warding. Harry was here, to take care of yet another necessary cog in his plans.

It hadn't been easy, to get the three guilds, of Warding, Curse-breaking and Enchanting to do this joint test. Normally they were quite a bit particular such things, refusing any and all requests out of hand. But thankfully he had eventually managed to make them understand the urgency of his situation, using the ever successful persuasive formula of charm, humbleness and, of course, copious amounts of money.

Hm… pretty much the same cocktail it'd taken for these people's so-called 'junior' counterparts. (these arts were all present in spellcraft too, and he was already a full qualified master in them from that angle.)

He reached the hall where the tests were to be done, a large auditorium containing a… cottage?

Yeah, it was a good sized cottage, standing within the vast, cavernous hall.

Oh well, he'd seen stranger things.

He strolled right into the hall, coming to a stop a few meters from the house, before pulling out his wand (a prop, more or less, these days), conjuring up a chair at which he sat down.

It was a few minutes before a door opened on the far wall, admitting two men and a woman. Harry rose and greeted them. They exchanged pleasantries for a few moments, before coming to business.

"As you can see, Your Grace, your exam will be this cottage. What we want from you, is that you must break down the wards upon this cottage, without even the slightest sign of physical damage. This, obviously, will be the Cure-Breaking aspect of your test."

At this, one of the men spoke. He was brown haired, with a swarthy complexion that Harry placed as Spanish (there were also over three dozen other deductions that he made, which narrowed down the man's branch of warding, his exact age, the number of children he had, and a whole lot else). Sure enough, his English bore fairly strong traces of a Madrid accent. "And for your Warding test, you must simultaneously cast another set of wards, of the same or greater strength as currently present on the house. This you must do in a way that no part of the cottage should be without wards at any moment."

"I understand. And the enchanting?"

"Ah yes." this was the third man, a blond American, Harry deduced. "Scattered through the building, there are several enchanted articles, with spells upon them to carry out certain functions. We wish for at least a third of those items to be rendered entirely without magic, and the remaining ones to be possessing spells and magics that are in no way similar to what is currently on them."

Ooh, they had gone all out, hadn't they? Harry supposed he was getting a double dose, both the customary bigotry against the British, and against his perceived arrogance in demanding this arrangement.

Still, failure was not an option, had never been.

"Finally, you have six hours to finish this test. You may use any and all means you deem appropriate, given you follow the rules laid out."

Ouch. Six hours? No one who wasn't an Arch level Warder/Enchanter/Explorer could manage something like this in a moment less than three days!

Lucky for him he was well beyond Arch level, and very, very close to Grand level. (these were important subjects, and by now he'd spent over a decade in time acceleration upon them)

"I understand."

"Very well. Your time starts when the screen starts the countdown." The woman said, before the three of them left just as quickly as they'd come.

Harry settled back into his chair, conjuring a table to match. He made a show out of cracking his knuckles, stretching his harms out as interlocked fingers gave popping noises.

He pulled out a device from his pocket, a mini computer that could do anything and everything the latest models from Cray's labs dreamed of one day to be able to.

All he did with it was to set it down on the table, where it was followed by a multitude of items, all Harry's own inventions. He was careful enough to refrain from using anything he wanted to remain exclusive to him, but even then there was quite the collection of goodies being laid out.

As he finished with it, he glanced at the screen. It was one of his own, irony of ironies.

Even as he looked, the screen flashed, numbers appearing in an elaborate, Shakespearean hand (seven segment displays were so gauche).

6:00:00

"Well, Showtime!" he whispered to himself.

With a gesture, there were holographic screens in the air, showing the scans in progress on the house. There were over a dozen screens, all showing progress bars at varying levels of completion. Harry snapped his fingers, and all of them were suddenly fully completed, and showing various details about the building.

Harry pulled all the screens together with a gesture, fiddling with the intensities of the various magics he was employing. He worked quickly, every gesture turning the holograms this way and that, pulling things in, pushing them out, zooming in, looping pieces of magic, snipping others off, as he steadily worked at unraveling the wards.

His attention was focused on the whole thing, with his magic pulsing every few seconds, channeling his magic through cycling levels and frequencies, figuring out every component of the wards, using seven-plane imagery to find out the locations of the various artifacts, identifying a couple as bona-fide mystic codes, others as tuppeny trinkets, while starting mini-analyses at the same time.

(A/N: Okay, this is getting nowhere. Imagine any scene out of Iron Man 1, where Stark's designing the armor, or from 2, where he's trying to figure out the new element. Okay, good. Now fit this all in)

He gave commands, made gestures, cast spells by the dozens. Hours went by, with the magic on the cottage unraveling, then reforming as he appeared to hit safeguards, and then being side-stepped, untying binds in the magic, latching up several new ones. This all went on…for four hours.

"Okay people. Here goes!" was all he said, before yanking is fingers. Immediately, the entirety of the existing ward structure was peeled off, appearing as a net of magical threads being pulled towards him by the few strands that connected it to him. He paused for a second, bringing his left hand to his mouth. He motioned with his lips as if giving someone a flying kiss, flicking his fingers as an orb of magic came out.

The flick caught the orb, throwing it high in the air, from where it descended at the cottage, expanding into a representation of C60 (A/N: those of you without chem., Google it) as it did so. Harry pulled the last of the wards off, even as his own settled at the house. Moments afterwards, they flickered, as a great deal of power was channeled through them.

With a flash, all of the items appeared. There were twenty-seven items, and as he'd been asked to, nine were as utterly muggle as a shirt belonging to Vernon Dursley (not that the examiners would get the analogy), while the others had had their magic all changed around. Harry had also made sure to use only common spells in extraordinarily innovative ways, not giving these idiots any chance to reverse engineer any of his families' magic.

Well, it wouldn't take a Warder's degree to figure out what happened after that.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"How far along are we with Phase 1?" Harry asked of Malfoy, who was sitting to his right.

"Almost completed. We have identified everyone who is likely to be against us in this, the only thing that remains is to evaluate the exact details about some of them." Lucius said, with one eye on the notes in front of him.

"I see. Well, tell me."

"Morrigan, as expected, will never turn. Loxley I suspect has more of an ego problem than anything else, and we can play that. Then there's a list of lesser members, mainly Warlocks dotted throughout dead end offices in the ministry, the usual riff-raff you find in any big scheme."

"I see. Now, how many of these riff-raff members are our agents?" Harry asked, his tone inquisitive with just that tinge of disdain that he knew would tick Malfoy.

Sure enough, the blonde's tone did get imperceptibly colder as he answered. "Out of the forty six minor ministry officials-cum-warlocks, thirteen are dedicated agents for us, loyal to the cause. We have indirect control over half a dozen more"

"Very well, apart from that, what about Phase 2? Viscount?" Harry had deliberately designed the nomenclature of the plans and their details in a way that would confuse anyone unaware of their exact nature. To put it very simply, he'd switched 'Phases' and 'Aspects' in their meanings, so that multiple Phases were carried out simultaneously, while Aspects would come one after another.

Of course, this was the very smallest of his traps, but it was an effective one, if the simulations could be trusted to be accurate.

"It has been planned out entirely, sir. As instructed, the finalizing of the plans has been held back, but we have calculated everything that could be needed." Nott said, tapping his fingers over a manila folder.

"Have you lot now? Let me see."

Harry looked over the papers in the folder. It contained a detailed listing, name by name, of every asset they controlled in the Wizengamot or the Ministry, with recommended measures and arrangements. Harry had set it out a long while ago, back when he'd written out the Alliance's strategies for the shadow war, that the first priority would be defense. Once the group's flanks were secure, and by 'secure' he meant air tight and armor-plated, would they even consider going on the offensive.

That meant that everyone they owned, from Fudge down to the office boy who could peek at files no one was supposed to have access to, would have to be protected, in every way, shape and form. That meant protection from physical or magical dangers, and from dangers that could affect positions.

To that end, he'd ordered up a draft for plans to assign guards to the men, as well as setting aside funds, blackmail material and resources that could kill investigations, establish job securities, pay off nosy annoyances, etcetera, etcetera.

Nott's plans were acceptable, needing only minor changes. Harry made them with a conjured quill, before scrawling 'approved' across the sheet, taking care to highlight his changes before he added his signature.

"Well, that's that. Now, how far along are we with the evaluations of what deprivation netted us?"

The question was directed to Joshua Abbott, one of Harry's vassals through the Gryffindor family. Harry'd been working on making the man see things his way, and it'd been just days ago that he'd judged the man ready to enter the Ouroboros.

"Almost done, actually. As you know, we actually passed along the non-military grade items to their original recipients at three-fourth the prices, some through Althric, the others through the shells." The man said, referring to the shell corporations that Harry had set up to muddy things a bit in midst of the five legit companies he controlled.

Blackfyre International, Peverell Enterprises, Potter Industries and Sharr Ltd. Were all major companies that had all declared profits of over ten million each in the last quarter, partly due to the efforts of Deprivation, actually, but they were companies that actually existed, and had offices and all. Others, over a hundred others, were pure shell corporations, existing nowhere other than on a few papers here and there.

"And what about the military grade ones?"

"Well, sir, as I said, the evaluation's almost done, all that remain are a few warehouses worth of wardstones and stuff."

Here, Malfoy cleared his throat, before speaking. "Speaking of Operation Deprivation, your grace…"

"Yes?" Harry asked.

"Well, sir… it was a rather costly project, was it not?"

"Well, of course, Lucius. When one shuts down the world market simply by the power of gold, it's expected that the exercise would be expensive.

"I understand that, sir. But that still does not change the fact that the money's all gone. Forty billion galleons, accumulated from contributions from every member of the core assembly, and it's all gone."

"I see. Well, I suppose that you should be grateful then, that Project Deprivation was the most expensive project this organization will be undertaking for the foreseeable future."

"Oh but-"

"And, there's to be a second pooling. The council will, once again, make the primary contribution, with seven billion galleons placed into the usual accounts. Furthermore, there'll have to be quite extensive contributions all around. I assure you, it won't be anything as strenuous as the last time, but still, it has to be done." He spoke with a note of finality.

Looking around, no one looked ready to challenge him on the matter, which was a pity, as he'd judged them just about ready for a culling, but they did look focused on the matter, which wasn't.

Hmm… there had been that report that'd gotten out about the 'questioning' session that he'd carried out with the Cherinsky Clan's royal family. Maybe that'd done it.

"Anyway, that is a matter of another time. This is strictly a planning meeting."

"Now, what about the nominations? Has the committee agreed on the nominees for the positions?

"This time, it was Dalglish that took the onus. "Not quite, sir. We're close, but it's nowhere near done."

"Oh? Well, I suppose it's a good thing that I drew these up." Harry said, pulling a thin sheaf of papers out of a pocket.

He half offered them to Dalglish, before withdrawing his hand "But why don't I take a look at what you've gotten done first, eh Timothy?"

"Sure, sir" the man said, handing a manila envelope over.

Harry looked through the list. It took him about three quarters of a second to read through the dozen-odd pages, after which he did a rather good job of faking suppressing a chuckle. He looked at the committee members lazily, mirth shining in his eyes.

"Okay, people. Very funny. Now, where's the real list?"

Well, to be honest, it wasn't funny at all. It was sick, twisted and corrupt to the core, that list, a virtual who's who of the worst examples of bigotry and worthlessness. What else could be said about a list that suggested Albert Runcorn for the Head of DMLE, after all? And Walden Macnair for the Head of Creatures, bloody worthless Scabior for MLEP commandant! They suggested UMBRIDGE for Minister, for fuck's sake.

Harry knew it was an attempt to test him, to see the way he would handle this.

As if to confirm this, he got his answer.

"I'm afraid that it is the real list, sir. Those are the recommendations we have decided upon." Malfoy just loved to dig himself deeper and deeper, didn't he? Or wait… oh, oh!

"Really? Even you, Lord Dalglish?" Harry asked, hoping to salvage something.

"Well, sir… I mean… yes, sir. I have" the man replied with just a touch of insolence, his jaw set in defiance. Harry wondered just what was the price for which he'd been bought, till his mind went back to the list, where it said 'Timothy Dalglish, for Director for Magical Finance.'

Well…

"That being the case, this list is rejected in its entirety. Furthermore, the subcommittee for Political affairs- Britain is, as of this moment, stripped of the right to make any nominations, both in the capacity of the subcommittee and as individual members." Harry's voice was freezing, relaying his apparent anger.

Harry looked them in the eyes, willing them to challenge him. They looked right back, unwilling to back down, till…. It was Dalglish who cracked first, a small smile appearing, that eventually grew into full-bellied guffaws. He was followed in this by his fellow committee members, and eventually by Harry himself. They laughed for a good several minutes, all the 'tension' disappearing as if it was never even there.

"Now, coming back to nominations, Bartemius Crouch will be the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. Schedule this for a few months from now, and in the meantime," here he looked at the delighted man directly, "groom Derek Cresswell as your replacement."

"But sir…"

"I know he's a muggleborn, Barty. That won't be a problem."

"I understand, but what about Dumbledore?"

"Now don't you lot worry about Dumbledore. I've got plans for him." And it was true in every detail. Harry currently had fourteen hundred and eleven separate plans being carried out, each and every one of which had one of its primary objectives as the removal of Albus Dumbledore. It could have been a huge waste of resources, but the other elements involved in the plans ensured that it wasn't.

"Now, Lord Wiltshire will be taking up the Office of Inheritance Affairs and Pureblood Matters, and I shall let the appointment of Lord Dalglish for MF stand."

"Thank you, your grace." the man said, in a subdued tone.

"Sir, what about DMLE? I'd have thought Barty ideal for that, instead."

"Yeah, me too" Harry said. It was true, he'd been thinking of getting Barty first the DMLE then the ministry. Would've been easy, too, but there simply hadn't been any candidate for CW.

He continued "Thicknesse, I think, for DMLE. I've arranged a similar treatment for him as I did to Barty here." Harry actually had to say, he was glad for all the practice he'd gotten with his mind magic skills. Mere months earlier, he'd have thought it impossible for him to layer spells delicately enough to fool the Unspeakables who ran regular scans over the high ranking members of the Ministry. Now, it was a piece of cake. (A.N: Yeah. That's my idea of 'character development')

He continued to cite names, some blackmailed, some paid off, others controlled magically. It was after roughly half an hour of this, that Nott interrupted "Haven't you forgotten something, sir? You didn't say anything about the Minister for Magic position."

"Oh I didn't forget it at all. But thanks for mentioning it." Harry said. He snapped his fingers, and a file appeared, containing several sheets of paper and photographs.

He looked over it, before creating replicas with an absentminded wink. An exertion of magic had these sliding across the table to the members of the subcommittee, who quickly picked them up.

The first to react was their future Chief Warlock. "Are you serious, sir?" Crouch asked incredulously.

"Well, of course, sir."

"But the man's a fop!" this time it was Malfoy. Harry didn't bother to point out the irony here, choosing instead to comment. "Well, we know that, Lucius. Tell me, does anyone else?"

"Well, to be honest, now that you mention it, people actually do seem to have forgotten all about it" Malfoy said slowly, provoking a series of nods around the table.

"Your work, Duke?" Nott asked.

"Yep!" Harry responded with sudden (and patently false) cheer.

Indeed, Harry thought. It had taken his a great deal of effort to wipe the memories from everyone who did (less than two dozen people, actually), and lay down spells upon others who knew it but couldn't be seen as suddenly forgetting the matter by others, who, in turn, couldn't be seen forgetting it by that one person who still had the power to ruin Harry and all his plans.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. The man was a pest, and would remain one till one of the fourteen hundred plans did something about it. Still, magic willing, it wouldn't take long. Harry already had indications that leads he'd laid down as far back as last November were being probed, while certain traps seemed to be getting more and more likely.

Still, coming back to the matter, less than a full dozen people were truly aware of the truth about Gilderoy Lockhart, and even they would forget all about the matter as soon as Dumbledore stopped being a threat.

Minister Lockhart was a very likely possibility, getting more so every second.

He didn't say any of this, opting instead to continue with the nominations "As for the Committee of…"

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry was now in Hogwarts, having finished off the Alliance meeting a few hours ago. Way back before he went to Russia, he'd set up the marauders as a group where young talented people could socialize and make plans to help each other, push agendas through, get things done both in regards to Hogwarts and the outside world, and most of all, have a good time. It'd paid off well, winning him a dedicated group of allies in his own generation right off the bat.

He had then popped off to Russia to get himself a country, but he'd left simulacrums behind, which had acted out everything he needed to do as The Marauder. All well and good, but it was now time to move things ahead. Harry had set several plans in motions simultaneously, carefully developing friendships and relationships with the copious assistance of magic, and he was only now beginning to get anywhere. Hannah Abbott was his vassal through the Gryffindors, a very dedicated one at that, what with the time 'he' had taken with her. That gave him a solid 'in' with Susan Bones, who was the girl's best friend, and had been since the two were six. He'd used her once, to get an introduction to the heiress so that he could take her to the Malfoy Ball. Not much had come of it, but that was fine. But by now, their friendship had developed into near absolute sisterly devotion, due to his work.

That was one thing.

Another thing was the intense 'older brother' level friendship between Zacharias Smith and Cedric Diggory, out of which Diggory was his creature, mind body and soul. Quite literally, as a matter of fact. It had taken some distasteful actions to, well, enslave the boy (that was what it amounted to, and he'd never been one to hesitate from calling a spade a spade), but it was a move that promised to pay huge dividends.

These were just tiny, almost invisible strands in the intricate web of relationships he'd woven throughout Hogwarts, some romantic, most platonic, others purely business or political transactions.

Honestly, just how hadn't Dumbledore become utterly and absolutely invulnerable in politics after half a millennium of controlling this place?

Oh right, he had that whole morality thing going.

Of course, manipulating the students was actually the lesser advantage of the institution. After all, the real power came from the utterly, ridiculously simple act of replacing every headboard in the castle with pensieve imitations (well improvements actually. They worked several orders of magnitude better than conventional ones, with transmission powers added, to boot).

Naturally, no human mind could process the harvest, it was simply too vast, even if one pruned away all of the irrelevant parts (of which there were far less than one would think. Teenage angst was informative, no matter what one might say about it). But Selene could, rather easily actually, at least after he added another Centillion Yottabyte of hard disk and a RAM tenth that size. (and personally speaking, making one of those fit inside a 421875m3 volume was one of the greatest magical achievements ever). They told him things, about the personalities and favorite habits of their parents, guardians. They told him layouts of buildings, the foods favorite in their families, and so, so much more. Indeed, the only downside seemed to be that ever since he had them put in he felt strange urges to laugh maniacally and twirl a nonexistent moustache at times like this, when he was practicing how to operate with his occlumency shields down.

The sheer value of the information was hard to explain. It was everything he needed to make the agents shadowing those peoples' every move utterly undetectable. They knew every little quirk, every minor eccentricity of their targets. What to go for, what to avoid, the exact character sketches of over seventy percent of the upper echelons of magical society.

Still, information aside, Harry had already cemented the group into the castle and himself into the group. They were hooked, to the power and privilege it provided, and the sheer, blind excitement that was prevalent in their lives after associating with him.

Not one of his Marauders could go back to the dull, common school life, and they would never, ever manage to go into the dull, common adult life. Excitement was the single, greatest drug out there, the joy of breaking all accepted norms, of thumbing their nose at authority and of shattering world records. Oh yes, there wasn't any drug better, and he was the only dealer in the world.

And at that note, Harry grabbed hold of all his emotions with 'mental tentacles of doom', and shoved them all back into their common places into the interlocking rings of his mind. He released a sigh of relief, as the soothing coldness of harsh iron permeated through his psyche, portioning off everything other than clear, cold logic.

It was a chore, letting them out, but not doing it would be to develop a vulnerability, as someone or the other out there was bound to have the powers to bring his occlumency crashing down.

Vulnerabilities killed.

Harry rose, looking at his watch. It was time to meet his much touted 'inner circle' (marauder terminology, not his). In reality it was just a smaller group inside the Marauders, consisting of two-three members from each house, the best and brightest even among the marauders.

In a few minutes, he was in the room, looking over the assembled group. There they were, lounging about on bean bags and in couches, discussing in the same breath mastery level magical theories and the latest batch of video games his company had released.

As they looked at him, they waved, while gesturing for him to join them.

He waved right back. There was a time and a place for stiff, unbending formality, and this wasn't it."Well, people, how are you?" Harry asked 'cheerfully' (ha!)

"Oh, we're perfectly fine, Harry. How 'bout you?" Susan Bones was the first to answer, sitting slouched in one of the chairs, right next to Theodore Nott. Harry looked around, taking in the similar responses and cheers and smiles. There was Zabini, busy with a phone, sending what Harry knew was a rather decently done attempt at poetry. Harry could have smiled. That particular gambit had paid off well, as the two were now a solid couple. Harry had actually removed more than a few of his suggestion spells, to see how things went under their own inertia.

And it was a pleasant surprise, in how well they went. Turned out Blaise had had a budding Oedipus complex for his own for Scytheria, who was one of the most stunning redheads in Europe, actually. 'Hair the color of seven wizards' heart-blood', as the tabloids called it.

His gaze moved on, taking in the sights of the best and brightest of this generation assembled here, ready to be shaped into something far, far greater than the sum of their parts. Truth be told, this was the one and only group of the people in the whole world that he would hesitate to sacrifice, if it became necessary (of course, by hesitate he meant 'pause for a fraction of a second') they were the upcoming generation, the ones who he was going to be stuck with for a great deal of time.

Susan Bones, Zacharias Smith, Ernest Macmillan, Nott, Katie, Su Li, Neville, Luna, Daphne Greengrass, Donovan Rookwood, the list was long, twenty-seven members to be exact. Over half were Harry's vassals through their families, there to strengthen their loyalties and keep the other half in line, which were people Harry dearly needed control over.

"Well, that's enough dawdling. Everyone, attention please!" Harry said loudly, subtly enforcing his voice with a trace of power. It was enough to get immediate focus on him and his words, after which he continued "Well, we're gathered here now, so we might as well begin discussing some rather important matters."

They nodded, adding in some quips of their own.

"First of all" Harry started "I have here a list of Ministry positions I've arranged to be available to the people in this room. I know most of us have our own businesses and estates to look to, but if you want anything from the list, you can have it." At this, copies of the same list appeared on small stools, on the finest quality papers from his own letterheads, bound in black leather.

"Naturally, those are for you to read at your leisure and deal with, but I will need an answer by tomorrow."

"So we can have any position that's listed here?" a voice came, surprised.

"Yes, that's what I said."

"B-but that can't be, there are such high level positions here!" He looked at the speaker properly this time, wondering what they were doing here.

It was the muggleborn, he realized then. Lisa Turpin was very talented, but lacking a bit in common sense. Ah well, she'd learn.

"Well, that's the beauty of it, isn't it?" Harry said with his usual false cheer.

"So, with that list with you, I don't suppose I need to tell you that NEWT and OWL exams have also been arranged for all of you. Study up, and be ready. They're the day after the tournament ends."

"Cool" That was Nott, trying out the new word he'd picked up. No, seriously. He had only just picked it up.

"Okay then, that's all sorted out. Next, we have" It was here that Harry received a jolt like a small electric shock. He continued unabated, explaining how the members, after they cleared their exams, would be invited to several parties and events at his behest, but his mind had already made the transition to the issue of the wards at little Hangleton.

Because they had just been breached.

As Harry analyzed the magical signature, a cold sensation of satisfaction spread through his mind. It was finally time. Time for the way to the future to be cleared, time for the biggest obstacle in his path to be cleared away.

With a pulse of magic, he affected a Sensory Hindrance on the whole room, giving him the chance to replace himself with one of his simulacrums, and with another its programming was updated to carry out the meeting.

Two minutes later he was standing in the Chamber of Secrets, fully kitted out in his most powerful weapons. It wasn't quite a war getup, no, rather it was much more subtle, designed specifically for this day and others like it. Uzariel's ring was at his finger, of course, just as the Black Horn was shrunken into an invisible pocket at his lips, and those were but two of the many protective and destructive weapons he carried. But he had no doubt whatsoever that he would need all of them.

Harry canceled the Lion's share of his Dumbledore-killing plans in the next moment, primarily because one of them had just worked. The leads he'd been planting here and there about horcruxes had done their job. Albus Dumbledore was in Little Hangleton, and was currently trying to breach the third ring of wards, out of the thirteen that Harry had erected (all with Voldemort's signature and using magic that Voldemort was likely to know, of course)

Harry knew that the wards, each of them well beyond what a Master of Wards or even an Arch Wardcrafter (there were no Grand Mages in Warding currently) could manage to craft, or their equivalents in Cursebreaking could hope to crack, would, at best keep the man out for a few hours.

Mind you, that was at best. Meaning that they had to be at the maximum power possible (they were), and he had to be completely exhausted mentally, physically and magically (not very likely. There were nowhere near enough challenges in the parts of the world Albus Dumbledore frequented)

So, realistically, Harry had anywhere between twenty to forty minutes at the very most.

He apparated.

Harry materialized near the shack, deep in the woods. He was invisible, of course, and undetectable.

He looked around, and raised an eyebrow, detecting that the fourth ring had just been circumvented. Well, well, well, the Persian wire-loop. Albus sure deserved his position.

With a slight shake of his head, Harry got to work. He brought his magic out, spreading it through the wards. There was a delay of a few microseconds, and then it was started.

Harry reshaped the wards slowly and intricately, staring from the seventh ring and upwards. He had to be careful, if he brought any of the wards that Dumbledore happened to be working on into flux, the geriatric would be able to latch on, and possibly unravel the whole thing.

Harry knew he could, if the positions were reversed.

It was a long task, to systematically reconfigure the wards, keeping up with whatever magic Dumbledore used so that they could leech off of his magic, and casting new wards that would exploit whatever vulnerabilities appeared as the man worked. And what made it all the more complicated was that Harry had to do all of that with his magical signature suppressed, so that the man didn't detect what was happening.

Still, he'd practiced this scenario dozens upon dozens of times, so however difficult it was, it still got done. And more importantly, the actually relevant job, which all of this served as cover for, got done as well. Because this wasn't the point, to increase the difficulty Dumbledore faced in getting in. No, that was just bait, to serve as additional window dressing, making the task Dumbledore had set himself more tempting by adding on an intellectual challenge.

No, the whole point was to prevent the man from going back. He had to be allowed to enter, but that was it. Once he had entered, Dumbledore would not, could not, be allowed to leave. This was to be his death ground, right here.

Hence the wards that were forming behind Albus. Ancient, Aztec sacrifice powered spells, Conceptual Magic, vast physical obstacles, the whole nine yards were being formed then and there, and the man had no idea at all.

Eventually, half an hour passed. The last of the rings had been breached, with Harry's last minute additions being useful to a fairly decent degree. And now Albus stood in front of the section of the floor, below which the ring of Cadmus had once lain, and which now housed a perfectly made replica, down to the magical signature of the curses (which were about eleventy gazillion times stronger), and the looks and magical aura of the resurrection stone.

Harry was just meters behind, watching carefully. He was also reevaluating Dumbledore, trying to get a feel of just how hard a fight this was going to be. After all, there was currently 10 ccs of Basilisk venom floating about the air in aerosol form, and Dumbledore hadn't even felt it, no doubt having prepared himself from Fawkes' tears. Neither had he needed so much as a fraction of a second to dismiss the thirteen separate curses of misfortune that had been cast at him as soon as he started working the wards. Once again, a concentrated dose of Felix Felicis had been detected by Harry to be the cause. You had to hand it to him, the guy deserved his degrees.

As Dumbledore undid the final enchantments that would have turned the floor into a bottomless pit leading to boiling Greek fire straight out of Tartarus (the real one from Greek mythology, not one of the pits), Harry let the powers of the leylines pool, deep within his body.

The toughest fight of his life so far was just about to begin.

Harry watched the golden box come out, followed by a dozen invisible, undetectable monsters that were destroyed with a flick of the old man's wand. He then looked at the box, nullifying locking enchantments that had thwarted several major Thievery demons with a word of power. He opened it, dodging the flaming snakes that erupted out, snapping at him till they went out with a wave of the infernal man's wand.

And then, he twitched yet another time, causing the ring inside to float out, hovering two-three feet in front of him.

And now was when it happened. The compulsions upon the ring had been woven from the very finest materials that a man in Harry's position was able to obtain, that is to say, the very finest money could buy. Two strands of hair, bought from a very, very discreet, old Roman gentleman. The hairs were three thousand years old, from the heads of the very women who had ascended into the goddesses Hestia and Hera barely a day or two later after the hair had been taken. To remind the subject of family and the value it held, and of home, with the warmth and joy inherent in the concept.

Harry knew that these would latch onto the first thoughts that were bound to come into Dumbledore's mind upon seeing the faux resurrection stone, of family and his home, the loss of which he yet regretted oh so terribly (there was a reason Albus knew so much about witches and wizards who had wasted away in front of the Mirror of Erised). These items, each holding vast power, would remind Albus of everything he had lost to be what he was today, and create the sense of longing and regret that would be used for the next spells, created by Harry using techniques from the book of Giacomo Casanova himself. Casanova had been a mind mage of fantastic prowess, and he had specialized in these very fields, to take a mind drowning in longing and regret and subject it utterly to his will.

Granted, he had made a point out of using them to bed young women who'd just had bad breakups, and that was nowhere near what Harry wanted, but the basics remained the same.

And that was for a reason. They worked. Even on a man like Dumbledore, all but a demigod in his power. Harry could practically see his mind bending, the titanic willpower that had been a defining characteristic till now melting away, like a cube of ice thrown into an inferno. Of course, it didn't happen right away. It took time, for the sequence to work, for the man to start pondering his memories, for the wistfulness to unfold, and the longing and pain to reach a crescendo.

Sir Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Warlock from the seat of Godric's Hollow, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Grand Alchemist, Grand Potioneer, Hon. Grand Sorcerer, Master of Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Dueling, Warding, Curse Breaking, Healing, and just about every subject offered in Europe, was dead. He just didn't know it yet.

Harry was tempted, really, really tempted, to let the man put the ring on, and pass on quietly into the void. But unfortunately, Albus Dumbledore was owed a different death. It wasn't a matter of pride for Harry. He had better things to do, than satisfy his ego by killing a man almost ten times his age. It wasn't a matter of honor or respect either, him wanting a clean, respectable death for Dumbledore. No, the only thing preventing him from letting Dumbledore die of a two bit curse, and watch him as his life bled away into the filthy floor, was the length of wood in the man's hand.

The Elder Wand. The Deathstick, The Wand of Destiny. It was a terrible, terrible artifact, the masterpiece of the greatest wand crafter of all time, Antioch Kharaidon Peverell. It was also the final piece of a puzzle almost as old as the Nation of Britain, a part of the union that was called the Deathly Hallows.

Dumbledore had it, and Harry wanted it. But history and Harry's personal questioning via the Resurrection stone had revealed a truth about it.

The wand was picky.

There had been scores of Wizards and Witches that had acquired it, and most had used it to weave a trail of destruction throughout the world. Harry's great grandfather came only at the end of a long list. But the problem was, it was very particular about how it passed on. Ulric the oddball had taken it, in clear, harsh combat, from its previous owner. And it had served him truly, with no demur. On the other hand, his son murdered him treacherously, and took the wand.

He never managed anything extraordinary at all.

It wasn't just one example. They were many and repeated, dotted through history. One who got the wand by honest means got a level of use that others simply never managed, no matter what.

Gellert had been particularly upset at finding that out, realizing that had he been willing to spend the needed ten minutes or so that it would have taken him to kill Gregorovitch, then Dumbledore would have been a smear on a German pavement today.

Still, what was done was done. What mattered was the future. Harry wanted that wand, needed it to achieve that final echelon, the ultimate pinnacle.

He was at a very respectable level of power right now, with over seventeen masteries in wand-magic subjects, and nearly a full dozen Arch-level mage qualifications. There were less than a hundred people in the whole world that could call themselves his superiors in either learning or combat ability.

That was all fine. He'd started collecting the usual titles that came with such things, differing only with other such examples in that he took care to substantiate them as far as he could. So yes, he was pretty decently set.

Except… he wasn't.

Oh for the commoners, sure. The average mage or wizard might as well be an ant or a muggle for all the danger he faced from them. But the trouble was, they weren't the kind of people he intended to remain with for any length of time.

No, the kind of people who inhabited the circles he was a part of, Kings and Queens and Presidents and Chancellors, Heads of aeons old families and Chiefs of Multinational Corporations… those were the people that mattered. There were quite a few of them, and more than eighty percent of them had the power to pulverize him with nary a thought.

If the gap between ordinary magical and Arch Mage was that of a gulf, then the difference between Arch and Grand levels was that of the underworld and the sky. It was simply incalculable, the vast chasm. A Grand level Mage was the kind of magical being that could bring down nations by themselves, the kind even gods feared. A literal, true PMD (Person of Mass Destruction). They were the ones about whom stories, legends were written, Hercules and Odysseus and Sun Wukong and Dasharatha, Merlin, Uther, and Sigfried, Uchiha Madara and Senju Hashirama, Sauron and Gandalf. Where they walked, the world changed.

Harry had a long, long way to go before he could be considered at their level, before he could prove to have left ordinary, Mortal limits behind. It would take grueling, torturous effort, decades upon decades of single minded dedication.

Unless

Anyone who said things like 'There are no shortcuts in life' or 'Hard work is the only way' was either extraordinarily stupid, or a barefaced liar, particularly when magic was taken into account. Life was full of shortcuts, full of them as if an angry deity had stuffed them inside ruthlessly and without stopping. Real life oozed shortcuts, it dripped with shortcuts. Real life had shortcuts raining out of its pockets as it walked. Most people were too deeply lost in their 'ethics', and in their 'morality' to notice, but it was a basic truth.

Fact was, if Harry could become the master of death, if he could unite the Hallows and take the power that came with them, well, he couldn't say exactly what he could hope for, but it was guaranteed to be spectacular.

Now, coming back to the point (and Harry was starting to get annoyed with his own tendency to ramble), Harry needed to have clear, absolute mastery of the Elder wand, and that meant dealing the death blow by his own hand, in at least a pretence of a fair fight.

So that was why, even as wards around the place reached the final levels of their powers, making all travel, even by Phoenix, impossible, Harry sauntered out of his hiding place towards Dumbledore, who had been further beset with a medley of spells, that left him sapped of strength to a fairly decent degree at least.

Of course, not being a total moron, he wasn't looking like himself. No, this was his Voldemort getup.

"Hello Albus" his high and cold spoke, while he released a spell to create a cloud of scentless, colorless poison, and send it floating away at the man.

Harry had to give credit where it was due. Dumbledore's voice was still steady, and steel did gather in his eyes, even as the telltale traces of occlumency worked to suppress the feelings that his mind was clouded with. And his wand flashed almost invisibly, dispelling the poison. Surprisingly, though, there was no counterattack.

"Tom. I can't say I m pleased to see you here." he said, taking a step to assume a ready stance.

"Really? Oh, you break my heart." The words came out of Harry's mouth, while his fingers moved imperceptibly in the gesture for the Abstractual spell called 'Arachne's last'. He sensed with his magic, as a hive full of invisible, nearly undetectable spiders moved at supersonic speeds, weaving a web of magic around his enemy. Each of the strands was death in varied and painful ways, made all the more powerful by the sacrifice of the 'direct strike'.

He continued "Although I suppose it's my fault. Thieves never do like to be caught, do they?"

While a set of one hundred and one hairs in his beard shaped itself into a series of runes, dismantling the web immediately, Dumbledore spoke "A thief, Tom? Of all things, I hardly think you are one to call me that." Albus's efforts seemed to be working, as he managed to introduce a façade of his usualness cool over himself. Harry could see right through it, of course, but it was still pretty good.

"Oh but what does one called a man who has penetrated another person's delicately set wards, violated their ancestral home, and currently has taken in their possession a prized family heirloom?" Harry said lightly, while causing all air in the man's immediate vicinity to disappear immediately, creating a vacuum the same intensity as that of the deepest space. It was a piece of magic that had left many a men in Russia with more of their blood on their outsides than inside, one of his own creations.

"Well, if you say it that way…" was all the relic managed, before he had to speak out a word of power, unraveling Harry's spell. Harry counted the 'forced to active effort' thing a victory.

At this, it seemed, Dumbledore's limits were crossed. Harry felt a spell going through his shields like they weren't there, before it hit his armor. He felt it as it attempted to transmute him, armor and all, into a single atom, before petering out as he flared his raw power for a fraction of a second.

"Hey! There's a traditional time for pre-fight banter, you know!" he said.

But Dumbledore's eyes were now two chips of ice, all humor gone. his voice was cold and harsh, as he asked the question in his mind. "How did you return, Tom? What did you do?"

"Oh you'll find that there are more than a few of my servants still loyal to me. See, they could tolerate you acting as the whole country's beloved grandfather. But when Potter started getting too big for his britches… it lit a fire under them." This was the lie Harry had set aside to feed to Dumbledore, given how perfectly it fit the facts.

After that, the duel got a bit blurry for Harry. He was aware of fighting, as he released spell after spell, curse after curse. He turned into his animagus form, only to snap in frustration as the prey escaped. He turned into the dire wolf, but was left fruitless again. he fended off attacks, dodging most, blocking others, while taking the brunt of the rest.

It could have been an hour and it could have been a lifetime, or it could have been barely a few seconds. Every iota of skill he'd gained, everything he'd learned, he used it all, and was rewarded with the patchwork of wounds that crisscrossed through the man in front of him.

His Voldemort disguise had held till the end, thankfully, but that was about the only good thing. This was the toughest fight he'd ever experienced, but the weirdest part still was when Dumbledore started to continue their conversation as if they'd never stopped.

"You may rest assured, Tom, that I will find all of these loyalists of yours. And they will suffer, mark my words." Dumbledore said angrily, even as his wand blazed through the air, releasing dozens of faux phoenixes that bit and clawed at 'Voldemort'.

Harry extinguished the lot of them with a casual thought, while he spoke "Bah. You don't have the nerve to kill, Albus. You never did" he finished, with his words trailing out into a hiss, as the Parsel spell he'd started casting several seconds ago was completed. He watched, a bit interested, as the rays of light emanating from the walls bent and twisted, shaping into an ethereal Hydra that launched itself at his enemy even before it finished forming.

This was a very, very high level spell, and it showed, as it took five whole attempts by Dumbledore to destroy it, in which Harry had had the chance to summon a dozen Marids and set them at the old man.

He followed them immediately with one of his most powerful spells, which was actually over a thousand of the world's most powerful curses, released all at once. It wasn't a jet of light, rather being a simple flash like a momentary sun, every single ray of which was a terrible curse by itself.

Dumbledore spoke another word of power, causing all of the Marids to disappear into an inky black void, even as he said "And I tell you yet again, Tom. There are things worse than death." With his last words, he worked a spell that Harry only caught the end words of, which were something like "has spoken. Let it be"

Harry's magic flared, as he realized what was happening. Very high level Abstractual Magic, falling into the domain of Philosophy. Albus Dumbledore was using Alchemy to alter the truth of the world, to force an eventuality to occur. No doubt it was a counter to Harry's last spell, and indeed, it was one of the only ways to counter such a thing.

As he watched tendrils of magic pour into the surroundings, seeking to rewrite reality, Harry wondered for a microsecond about what Dumbledore had sacrificed. No Alchemist could work without satisfying Equivalent Exchange, after all.

Then, as he contemptuously released a pulse of magic that caused all of those tendrils to wither away into nothing, he figured it didn't matter after all.

If he'd had emotions, Harry could've smiled. There, that was it. Because while it sounded a real awesome thing, for an Alchemist/Philosopher (two sides of the same coin) to literally dictate events, one thing that abstractual magic always, without exception, was, was very, very draining. It sucked up Magical Power like it was going out of fashion, especially if it didn't have its preferred fuel, chaos magic. And Albus Dumbledore was as far from being a chaos mage as possible while being a wizard.

So… yeah. A battle of attrition between a 136 year old geriatric, and a mage of 14 was not really a good idea on the part of the relic. It would've been a very, very different story had Dumbledore done the rituals to turn himself into more magic than flesh, but he hadn't and it wasn't.

As Harry watched the last traces of magic desert Dumbledore's core, he ended things with a quick Scythios, watching as the crescent slicer took the head off at the man's shoulders. He followed it with six simultaneous banishers that sent the Head to a trunk Canada and the body to Pune, Moscow, Paris, Berlin and Beijing. The word of power that followed left his throat a bit sore, when it caused the sacrifice of one thousand three hundred and thirteen souls, to cause Dumbledore's soul to be snagged out of wherever it was heading and thrown straight to the deepest depths of Naraka, where demons he'd already contracted would keep a lot of eyes at it.

It was after this, that he surveyed himself, concerned about the soreness.

And realized the true worth of his occlumency, because it was the one and only reason why this wasn't a pyrrhic victory. No wonder his throat was sore, there they were, his voice cords, hanging from the wall like a macabre spider web. And it was hardly the worst he'd suffered. Armor cracked, basilisk hide penetrated, one eye taken out, regenerating even now. Fewer ribs intact than otherwise, spine broken in three places, half his liver lying around in front of him, flames still flickering at the surface of it. He poked his spleen back in somewhat self-consciously, while reinforcing the spell that was keeping his intestines in. and all of that was less than ten percent of what his body had been inflicted with just on the biological side. On the magical… well, he was cursed with misfortune thirty-nine times over, with sterility, with blindness and Merlin knew what else.

Harry was aware of all this intellectually, as his instincts automatically made inventory. His attention was focused on himself, because the pain compartment of his mind was starting to overflow. He focused more magic on it, before realizing that his pathways were smoking.

Looking over the rotten glob of flesh that had been his left kidney, Harry threw it down and kicked it, smiling delightedly at the wall was splattered with Harry-gore. He clapped his hands, as every bit of his flesh out on the ground started to smoke, before turning into acid, thanks to another of his rituals.

He was dimly aware of walking ahead, and noticing a stick with little blobs along it. He thought it was important. Why was it important? It had something to do with, with… what was it? Pain! Yes, it had to do with pain, because everything had to do with pain. His world was pain, the air he drank was pain, the water he breathed was pain, the food he walked on was pain, the land he ate, all of it had something to do with- no, it was all pain!

PAIN!

Harry realized that his condition was way worse than he realized. His regeneration had been slowed down to a crawl, he needed to… PAIN! He needed to… be in pain… yes. That was right, he needed to be in pain, because pain was all there was… no, he needed to… a regeneration chamber… protein baths, magical nullifiers waiting for this very contingency…#74 'Utter destruction of self'… no, it was contingencies 1 to 1000, all of which said to enjoy the pain, for that was all there was in the world, it was all that-

. . ?

He was Harry Potter! He couldn't go delirious like this, for such, such flesh wounds! HE WAS A DIREWOLF! Pain was nothing, pain was a way of life! He was born of pain! The will was all that mattered! His will was all that mattered! It caused pain, when he became a pack-less alpha, for that was what a dire wolf was!

His body, his mind, all were instruments of his will, and right now, his will wanted to pick up the Elder Wand. His will wanted to summon the ring to his finger, and his will wanted to summon the cloak to his shoulders, and it wanted them to be back in their own appearance!

His will wanted to do it in reverse order, for that was somehow important.

Harry wasn't aware of it, when the world held its breath. He didn't realize it, when nature went deathly quiet, when everything seemed to simply…pause.

He couldn't comprehend it, when the floor on which the wand was lying seemed to turn pitch black, and reach deep, deep into the belly of the Earth.

What he did realize, was that yet another curse had just washed over him. He didn't know what he would do, and he didn't think he would get a chance to find out. Death curses were a pretty big deal, and it was not really a worthwhile exercise trying to negate them using clever tricks.

They were magic at its most primal, when the power of a wizard crossed all bounds of reason and logic and simply visited vengeance upon the enemy.

The only way to fight them was to do the same yourself.

So Harry sank. He sank into the innermost depths of his soul, into the very core of his self. He sank, and he willed with all his power to find an answer.

If asked later, he couldn't have made even the wildest guess as to how long it took. How long he felt the power of the curse ripping away at him, destroying the very concept of him bit by bit.

But eventually it happened. Something did rise out of his soul, a cold, ancient and pitiless thing that gave a flicker of thought and obliterated the curse with a casual ease. It was something that had lurked very, very deep indeed, making the abode of the Basilisk and the Dire wolf look shallow in comparison. It was white and hot, a searing and shocking mass of magic at its most raw, crackling white as if comprised entirely of raw electricity, its power causing the wards that Harry had placed to hide the place to strain and bend.

And it was now awake.

Harry Potter's body and magic obeyed its will. Fingers were snapped, even though half the tendons of the hand were missing. A cloak appeared, shimmering and silvery, full of a mysterious beauty.

Again, magic coursed through pathways that had long since disintegrated. A ring appeared, the inset stone black and cold, full of a brooding darkness. And then, even though the knee of the boy was hardly anything more than pieces of calcium on which bits of flesh stuck, it bent, and his fingers picked up the wand.

And that action, the simple action of a young man bending down and picking up a wand, caused events. Throughout the world, the fabric of existence churned and rippled, as if a force were trying to claw it apart, tearing at its seams.

Spells laid down by three brothers a millennium ago, among the greatest necromancers in history, spells that had lain dormant since the first time they were cast, blazed to power in all realms and planes, be they mortal or immortal. And they were mighty indeed. Three Grand Necromancers had sacrificed their souls, along with all of their karma that they had earned in that life or any other, along with one thousand and one conquered magical prisoners each, to cast the spell, not to mention the fact that thirteen primary ley lines had been drained almost entirely to power it.

And it worked.

History was written. The fate of the world changed. Far and wide, from Olympus to Asgard, in the golden cities of Swarn Nagri to the dark caves of Kailash, from the deepest depths of Tartarus, of Pataal, and of Gehenna, to the very highest pinnacle of the world where Yahweh dwelt with his Legion of Angels, power swept its way, shaking the old, overconfident gods in their decadent nests. From the deepest realms of the ether, or the Duat, as the Egyptians would call it, the realm that formed the border between the physical world and the Nevernever, power erupted, heralding the advent of the youngest of immortals.

It was not resonated in the palaces and chancelleries of the mortal plane, because its nature was far too elevated and alien for them to comprehend. But the nature of the world had changed irrevocably, and the world had been plunged into a state it had never, ever known before.

Harry's world was, well, he wasn't really sure what it was doing. Kinda like a spinning-burning-sinking-tearing thingy. It wasn't pleasant, really.

If he'd been in pain before, now it seemed as if he was pain. Liquid fire was being poured into him, sinking through his veins, reaching each and every portion of his body with effortless ease. It blazed hotter and hotter, burning away every vestige of his mortality. He could feel links forming that crossed the entire continent, as the four primary leylines of Russia drained away all their current power into his core.

He was dimly aware of all of it, the power, the changes, and the magic, while his mind struggled to sideline the pain and move through it. he'd only started having success, when… it ceased.

Harry realized he was no longer in the shack. He looked around, and the place looked like a great big hall, something of a cross between a modern conference room and an ancient amphitheatre.

Harry looked down, and he could see what looked like his body far, far down, at the very edge of even his massively enhanced vision.

It was at this point that he looked around, taking in his surroundings properly. The whole hall was full, actually, with what looked like a random mishmash of people. He tried to focus on their appearances, but oddly enough, they simply didn't clear up. It was as if there was a veil between them, like he couldn't look at them the way they were supposed to be looked at.

It was at this point that he also noticed that the same seemed to go for audio. He couldn't catch anything meaningful at all, his years simply detecting static, static and more static.

Standing up gingerly, Harry pondered what was happening. There had been precious few writings by the brothers as to what they'd done on the hallows, and no portraits at all. So he'd been pretty much flying blind. As a matter of fact, it was only for the reason that his tests in abstractual magic had showed conclusively that the concept of 'Master of Death' had been a totally viable, ridiculously powerful concept that he'd even bothered with collecting the three.

So, what could it- oh, of course. Harry wanted to slap himself. It was contingency #4. He was on one of the further planes! A mixture of all the underworlds, it would seem.

And here, the soul was the only thing that mattered.

Meaning that, obviously, any communication would be in the 'languages of the soul', i.e.- emotions, feelings, and all that jazz. Ergo his occlumency was a big, blaring obstacle!

With a sigh, Harry started loosening the bindings on the compartments of his mind. The extremely unwelcome feeling of cloudiness started seeping through him, as his emotions reconnected with his magic, trying to trigger introspections, guilt, and whatnot. He endured through it, steadily increasing the flow.

Sure enough, it had the same effect as fiddling with a radio tuning knob or the zoom on a camera. The shapes started coming in focus, comprehensible words started to emerge from the static. He let it continue, till his usual vision was back as well as his mile-radius hearing.

The first thing he noticed was that the audience was not uniform. The vast majority, over two thousand or so, were simple figures with colorful clothes and happy faces, while hundreds of others looked as if they were a Goth convention who'd all had their puppies killed at the same time. Had it not been for the crushing, ruinous power he felt from each and every one of the latter, he might very well have said as much.

As it was, he realized what it was that he faced. The whole of the Peverell Clan, united here in… well, somewhere.

The second thing he noticed was the red blur that launched itself at him, with a realization that it wasn't just the Peverells.

"Harry! My baby! My precious strong wizard!" the voice of Lady Liliana Aideen Potter, née Sharr, came from somewhere near his shoulder.

"Hello to you too, mom." He said tiredly.

It took several moments, before his mother let go of him. Well, 'let go' might have been a tad too strong. At least she wasn't trying to powder his nonexistent ribs with her nonexistent arms anymore.

"Oh Harry, what did you do! You killed Dumbledore!" the voice wasn't quite horrified, per se.

"And threw him in eternal damnation. Mustn't not forget the eternal damnation, dear" James Potter quipped from a bit behind her.

"Well, I do hope you people saw the reasons… or this will get very annoying really quickly."

"Oh yes we did son, don't worry about that" Lily said.

It was several minutes after that, several minutes that felt like the rapid-fire round of a particularly difficult quiz, that Harry was released by his parents, and that only at the behest of the trio of siblings that were standing close to them.

Harry looked at one to the other, his gaze lingering at his very distant ancestor, before moving on to the one who was just distant.

"So" Antioch said.

"Yeah…so" Harry said.

"Yo" That was Ignotus.

"'Sup" Harry said.

"All good. You?"

"Good"

"Cool"

"Cool"

"Just…stop, the two of you. Honestly…" Cadmus half-groaned.

"Anyway, getting to the point… well, what exactly should I expect from what I just did?"

"Yeah. 'bout that. The guys to answer that should be getting together just about…now" Ignotus said, looking back at a really, really big table that had appeared when everyone thought Harry wasn't looking. Harry looked at it, trying to get the whole scale of it. It was T-shaped, with the shorter arm having several huge thrones along it.

Harry noticed several beings moving in the place, sitting themselves down. On the longer side, there several beings, dressed in what looked like examples from every culture ever.

Harry's gaze focused back on the shorter arm, seeing the collection of…well, there was no escaping that word. He took in the collection of Gods along the table, looking with particular interest at the blue figure with stitches all over his body, and then at the big guy with a crown of brilliant gold, adorned with bull's horns. He continued looking, seeing a half-rotten Viking lady, a fully rotten oriental, among a very, very seriously weird collection.

He eventually made his way to the table, sitting at the open tip of the longer arm, directly opposite of the entities he acknowledged as Elder death gods of all the pantheons of history.

What followed was some parts discussion, some parts debate, and lots and lots of pointless shouting, as everyone tried to say the same things at the same time, hoping perhaps that the sheer volume that they screamed at would allow them to get their way.

Eventually, things settled down, allowing Harry to repeat the question he had.

The answerer, surprisingly, was Izanami, once Primordial of Earth and Queen of Creation in the Japanese realms, then Queen of the Underworld.

"As you know, the vast majority of the death gods in Earth's history have been from the bloodline of the Elder god Chthon, which your realm now calls the House of Peverell."

Harry nodded. He did know that.

"So, what these three of your ancestors did was to collect prized artifacts from all of the death gods, and use them, along with the blood in their veins and the souls that they sacrificed, to establish a link. We were appealed to by this means, and truthfully, it was a proposal interesting enough that we answered. Of course, it took a long time and a lot of debating, but that is not relevant in the slightest at this point of time."

"And the result is right here now." Harry finished for her.

It was Osiris that spoke then "Yes"

"Well, cool. So what powers do I have?"

This question was taken by a god in a Greek tunic, pale like a corpse with jet black hair, with a circlet of laurels around his head "Tell us, Hadrian Iacomus, what do you understand by the words like Avatar, or godly mantles, or channelers, or indeed, by 'chosen'?"

Harry answered Hades "Well, in my understanding, any of these is basically a Grand Invocator with a religious specialization. They don't call so much call upon a god's power, as they become a permanent receptacle of divine might on Earth, so that you lot can meddle around without breaking any of the laws set down by Order or Destiny"

It was a calculated risk he took, speaking with such disrespect. After all, if this was going to lead where he thought it would, then he needed to get some sort of handle on the situation, and fast.

"I suppose that is good enough. Well, that's what you are, albeit to an extent no one has ever been before."

"You mean…"

"Yes. Now, once you return to consciousness, you shall become the embodiment of Death on the mortal plane. The powers of everyone in this room shall be your to command, as long as you stay within the mortal confines of your realm."

"Oh. Ok, and what about that pesky thing? I forget the name… something beginning with an 'm', I think… maybe it ended with a 'y'…"

The amusement that was evident on the face of Hades meant that Harry had at least one god who wouldn't mind when he went unprofessional.

"Your mortality is so much dust in the wind, young one. Rest assured… about a godhood of your own, well, I would say that you are halfway through."

"Hm… if you would be so kind as to elaborate, lord?"

Harry's attention turned to Azrael at this, when the fifth Archangel opened his mouth to speak "As you very well know, Hadrian, a god is more or less an entity who has increased his or her soul and magic enough to burn away his flesh. What you have achieved is to saturate yourself with enough magic to go halfway through this process. One surmises that it would take you at least two dozen leylines to complete the process and ascend fully, because such is the strength of your soul, and such is His will"

Harry nodded at this, while stopping the eye roll that came naturally at the mention of 'His' will. As if Yahweh had anything to do with this. But Azrael was here representing two of the most powerful religions present today, Islam and Christianity, and antagonizing his was not a good idea.

It took several minutes after that, and nearly a dozen questions, before Harry came to the other point he wanted clarified.

"Well, all that's fine. But there is another matter. After Dumbledore died, there was some sort of curse, some primal magic that tried to…"

He trailed off, seeing the mood in the hall. He wondered what was going on in their minds, before his attention went back to the brothers, who were looking the most nervous. He looked at them, pondering, till Cadmus spoke.

"Ah. About that. You noticed, huh?"

"Well, yeah…"

"There is no use trying to dawdle. The boy is far too perceptive." The voice was old and loud, laden with the weight of infinite authority, even more so than the others. Harry looked at where it had come from. The speaker was…grey?

And then he truly looked. Grey, ashen coloring, coiled hair with a thin spout of water flowing from it, a gleaming crescent sticking on the hair, and a black, ropelike serpent coiled around a throat that glowed blue.

The moment Harry realized just who this was, he bowed deep, an act in which he was followed by the entire mass of the gods present around the table.

After all, no one understood the whole principle of power and its benefits better than immortals. The being present here, his power and raw might, was on par with very, very few gods out there. Buri maybe, and Ouranos, and maybe, just maybe Ra.

He was Shiva, Lord of Destruction, The Hermit on the Mountain, God of the Gods, Tamer of the Ganges, and a thousand other titles. Harry wondered for a second just why he was here, before the God spoke again.

"Yes, it is of no use. He must be told, about…him."

Yama spoke at this, questioning "Are you…sure, lordship?"

"Yes"

Harry couldn't stop himself "About who, lordships?"

"Yeah? Who about?" James said, finally getting a word in edgewise in a long while.

"It is not wise to say the name, youngling. He is one of the eldest ones, one of the thirteen born of the primordial ether."

"Well, good luck discussing him, then." James said with his usual irreverence.

"Quiet, child." A voice Harry couldn't quite pinpoint, said. And there was good reason why he couldn't pinpoint it, as the whole place was currently awash in noise, from everyone trying to speak at once.

"SILENCE!" That was Hades, growing to fifty feet in a single instant.

He achieved it, allowing everyone to settle back down.

"Child, what happened requires some detailed explanation, and more importantly, it is information that will change your very life on every conceivable level. Are you certain you want to know?"

"Like that hasn't been happening once a month nowadays" Harry said under his breath, before replying affirmatively to Osiris.

"Very well, then listen." He said, in the consummate storyteller voice.

Harry resisted the urge to lean ahead, almost smiling as many of those around the table did just that.

"You remember the story that most civilizations in your time have had in common? The same prophecy, heralding the rise of a man, a lord, a king greater than all others? The prophecies about the Thunder-Born?"

"Yes"

"Well…. it is a long tail, full of conflict and despair, and there are many, many debatable bits in it… but the truth of the matter is… you're it"

"Huh?"

"What? You expected a long and boring diatribe, in which I repeat everything you already know?"

"Um…kind of"

"That's too bad. But far more important is that you understand the full implications of this matter. The mantle that those prophecies imply, the Mantle of power that you now hold, comes with a lot of powers, and unless you understand the source properly, you can do a lot of damage."

"Oh. Then tell me, please?"

"As you may know, you are not the first to old this title. There have been others, and they have all had the same powers and goals. In the civilization before yours, there was Augustus Caesar, grand-nephew of Julius and the main force behind the latter's deification. As you know, he was the one who served for a long time as an Avatar of Zeus, before ascending eventually as Jupiter."

"And as Rome's power was built off of that of Egypt, his precursor was Ramses the second, the Pharaoh who ascended into divinity as the god Ozymandias. Before him it was Alexander… he never made it to godhood, did he?"

"And the power of Greece was built on that of Persia, where the thunder-born was Dastan. He didn't make it either, unlike Gilgamesh, who was his predecessor."

"And no one doubts the story of Lord Rama, of course, progenitor of the Suryavansh."

"Yes, this is a long, long trail, once every civilization, all the way back to Jon Targaryen, and before him, to Al'Markos Mandragoran. It was I who started it all, you know." Sauron spoke from where he was sitting.

"Yes I do. Now can we get anywhere near to the point, please?" it was a minor death god from some Gaelic pantheon, so Harry didn't bother with overmuch politeness.

"Yes. The crux of the matter is, all of this power originates from the bloodline that you call the house of Sharr. Every one of them, every Thunder-born, has risen from the merging of two or more Eldritch bloodlines, and the one common factor has always been the essence of chaos carried by all of the Sharrs."

"And that essence is an eternal anchor of his power upon the world outside his prison."

"Oh! Now I get it! The father of the Sharrs! You mean Sam-"

"Don't!" Harry and Lily both almost screamed at Ignotus.

"mael! The eldritch progenitor of the Sharrs!" he finished, far too much on a roll to heed anyone.

Everyone around the room hung their faces, even the eldest of the gods. Several started immediate spells, seeking to execrate the words ASAP. But, of course, it was too late. The resonations of the name Sammael hung in the air, and all of them, god and spirit alike, shuddered as the light seemed to flicker, while the very magic they were all breathing seemed to turn foul. A sense of malicious randomness settled upon them, as if their very existence was in imminent danger of ending in moments.

The hall shook, while the same crackling of thunder that had saved Harry seemed t saturate all ears.

Ignotus was even paler that before, when he spoke "What is happening? I just said-"

"A name. You should know the power names can have, fool of a took!" Sauron said. The necromancer hung his head, having honestly forgotten, having not had any need to remember such things for a millennium.

"wHy, sAuROn, YoU bREaK my hEarT." the voice was cool and calm, full of the same dark charm that Harry prided himself as having.

"Begone, foul one! Your presence is not welcome." Azrael spoke, standing up with his wings flaring.

"Ah, cHilD of Chthon, yOu aRe oNE to tALk!"

Harry was suddenly aware of the entity's attention turning towards him. How he knew that, he had no idea, but he just did.

"YoU interest mE, cHiLd. Very well, I sHaLL gRaNt yoU mY pOWeR"

And with that, everyone breathed a sigh of relief, as the presence simply…ceased, like a dewdrop in a volcano.

It was he who said "Well, that went well"

After that quip it was mere minutes, before he found himself blinking back the darkness, staring at the open sky. It appeared as if his wards had held, and successfully concealed his epic social upgrade from the world, even though the shack had burned away entirely.

He stood up on shaking legs, before falling right back, as what felt like a freight train consisting solely of death magic slammed into him. It was difficult to identify what kind it was, only that it was death magic, and divine on top of it. Greek, Egyptian, Christian, all seemed to merge into him on top of each other, burning and changing him even more than he'd just been.

And magic wasn't all. With it came memories. He was there, a being born in a medley of screams and pain. He was being eaten, he was drowning, sinking in stomach acids. He was riding a black bull, carrying a mace on his shoulder. He had a spear clenched in his jaw. He was female, face half rotten. He was being torn apart, and being recombined by female hands. He was a king over mighty beings, patron of a vast empire in the desert. And then he was a King in the Underworld. Then he was dining with the God of Mischief, his/her father. And he was the eldest brother, hated and feared but never respected. He was His fifth child, the shadowed Archangel.

Harry shuddered, as memories continued to pour in, an unstoppable flood. The memories of Nergal, of Mictlantecuhtli, Donn, Supay, and of Asto Vidatu, Osiris, Yama, and so, so many others.

Each and every God that had ever ruled over Death was him, and he was all of them.

That wasn't all, as he could feel. His awareness was expanding, growing to encompass so, so much more.

He realized how foolish he had been, thinking mage sight could compare. There really was no comparison, between being however powerful a mortal one may be, and being a God.

There was no end to what he could do, and he knew it. Grand Mage? Bah. He could take a billion of them with a thought. There was nothing anyone in the world could do to stop him, to even try to stand against him. They were all insects, mere gnats against his majesty…

And that was when his mind magic slammed into his psyche, reshaping it back into the form it belonged in. Really, the very idea of becoming a pride-crazed deity…

The very idea was horrifying. He could imagine, being blind to all his faults, becoming the stereotypical Evil Overlord. It would be easy, so easy. But no, it was unacceptable.

With the thought settling into his mind, he could feel his powers coming to rest. The memories fled, retreating into a repository he knew he could access at any time he pleased. It was a good thing, too. He didn't think he could have taken the burden.

Still, some exploration was in order.

"So… let's see. Thanatos!"

He didn't know just what he'd expected, but the feeling of the world tearing, as his powers ripped a hole into it in order to breach the further planes hadn't been a very welcome thing.

Thankfully, the glowing, resplendent being, with purely black eyes and a wraithlike figure was more predictable.

"You called?" he spoke, unsurprisingly, in Ancient Greek.

"Uh uh uh, aren't you forgetting something?"

He practically saw the pain on the deity's face, before he bowed, like bending iron. "You called, my lord?"

"That's better. Now…Kaal! Anubis! Death!" he could feel his powers being stretched, calling down the entities he was naming.

Good, good.

Harry rose high, passing through the wards, even as a miniaturized version of them formed around him. He kept soaring, reaching the very edge to the stratosphere in a matter of seconds. Once there, he looked around, to find that the deities had come with him.

Speaking of who…

"Um… I know you are new to this, but all of us have important things to do. So, unless this is an emergency…"

"Oh no, no. if you want to go, then feel free"

"And now to check. Okay now! Men cut down in your prime! Women slaughtered before your time! Ghosts of the world over, half decayed wraiths, ancient, lingering shades, all of you! Attend me!"

The sky turned gray.

Harry looked around. As far as he could see, there were souls, wraiths, shades, everything he'd called upon. For a few seconds, he wondered what do with them now, till…

"Selene… how many reserve hard disks do we have?"

"Exactly fifty thousand centillion yottabytes worth, Harry. If we calculate everything, including pending orders, that is.

"Uh… okay. And RAM?"

"About a tenth of that, Harry."

"Okay. Activate all reserve factories, begin fabrication at max capacity. Meanwhile, connect everything we have to yourself."

"Done, Harry."

"Good. Okay then…" Harry tapped into his powers, expanding his mind down the billions of connections he felt tethered to him right then.

He willed all of the information they had, everything they knew or had ever known, be connected to his mind, and through it, to Selene.

"Okay, Selene. Run a relevance scan." Harry commanded.

"In progress… evaluating…evaluating….done"

"Initiate C&C."

"Acknowledged. Starting Categorization and Cataloguing… process underway….completed."

"Move it all into your databanks."

"Done."

Harry then called up the godly memories once more, all bazillion terabytes of it. the same scans, repeated, shrank it down to a much more manageable quantity, which once again, Selene absorbed fully.

"So, how much space do we have left?"

"Roughly ten thousand centillion yottabytes, Harry."

Ouch. Who knew gods and dead people knew that many things?

"Okay, and the fabrication?"

"One hundred hard disks, of ten thousand CYs each, are being created even as I speak, Harry. The data will be transferred into them out of where it currently is; in the smaller units pending delivery, in three hours. There will be no delay."

"Ooh, nice! Look who's taking initiative! You aren't gonna go Skynet, are you?" Harry joked a bit.

"I assure, you, I won't, your grace" the AI finished, sensing it as the occlumentic walls reformed into being inside Harry's mind, proclaiming the official end of the pseudo celebration.

"Okay…back to business." Harry said, even as his mind went through a rapid analysis of the current state of affairs. At this, even though his emotion were nearly completely confined again, he couldn't resist a fist pump.

"Immortal at fifteen, damn I'm good!"

But it didn't last, as the last of his feelings was pushed back, behind walls of iron. What was left was the future, and the things that had to be done very, very urgently.

Because the unthinkable had happened. Albus Dumbledore was dead, Harry Potter was now the Thunder-born, the prophesized conqueror of the world, and no one could be allowed to know.

Harry focused his mind, already activating the particular batch of plans that had been prepared for this eventuality. He apparated to Hogwarts, straight to the Headmaster's office. As soon as he was about to enter, the portraits were frozen in their frames, unable to speak, watch or listen anything at all. He walked purposefully, straight to a part of the wall behind a headmaster from the fourteenth century.

Dismantling the wards on it with a stray thought, Harry took out Dumbledore's will.

He thought out a series of instructions, ordering several teams of operatives into position, around every one of the old fool's beneficiaries. If he was to pull of this con, everything would need to be perfect.

He picked up one of the old man's letterheads, writing out a backdated letter of resignation from his position of Headmaster in a perfect replica of the curly handwriting. He signed it too, in the same hand.

It was followed by a letter on one of his own letterheads, a notification to the dept. of education that Dumbledore had resigned as Headmaster. He took the chance to add in that the very position of Headmaster was now dissolved, with all of its powers, responsibilities and privileges assimilated into that of Harry's own position.

He watched with some great amusement, as the changes were reflected in the sign on the door, when it changed from 'Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster', to 'Harry Potter, Lord Guardian'. What immediately followed was a letter of termination of one Severus Snape. Harry signed and stamped that one a moment later, sending it off to a drawer deep in the chamber for now.

Next, he drew upon his necromantic powers, calling Dumbledore back for a fraction of a second, the exact amount of time that it took for Harry to lift all his memories right out of his head. Harry shunted those off to Selene for now, focusing on his immediate concerns.

He returned Dumbledore back to his much deserved reward, while returning his attention to the matter at hand. Immediate letters were drawn up, to the Wizengamot Administration office, asking for a meeting so that he could be sworn in as the new proxy for the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff seats, and other ones in Dumbledore's hand, announcing that he was taking a three week long leave of absence, while an equivalent letter of the latter was sent off to the ICW.

It was a fortuitous thing for Harry that Dumbledore had been in the habit of taking such leaves often, mainly to hunt for horcruxes. Otherwise it might just have been too noticeable for his tastes.

Once the legal aspect was done, Harry turned his mind to the magical. A doppelganger of his, long since transmuted into the old man's appearance, was called up, and Harry instructed Selene to start assimilating the man's memories into it. He took care to limit it to just the behavioral patterns and habits, as he didn't know just what the man's magical knowledge might contain.

And finally, it was time for the blatantly illegal things to be gotten out of the way. Harry apparated to Gringotts.

Several months ago, he'd paid a hefty bribe to find out just who Dumbledore's account manager was, mainly so that he could set up the plans that he was now activating.

Ten minutes later saw Harry stroll into the office of one Grimjaw the Rockbiter, with Grithlauk one his one side, and the director of the department of wills and inheritances on the other.

In true goblin manner, the junior creature was not even given a chance to speak, as Harry spoke out just what was to be done. Owls were sent out immediately, bearing notifications of the will reading, that was being held in six hours, and to which the beneficiaries had to respond within half an hour on pain of forfeiture of any and all inheritances. Barely had they made it out of the bank owlery that they were shot down by pre-positioned snipers of Harry's. The same fate met the ones winging their way to the ministry.

Half an hour later

"Well, now the time for responses has elapsed. Let this be noted into the official record."

"Yes, it is duly noted." The scribe that Harry hadn't bothered to find out the name of said.

"Now, we read out the will. Albus Dumbledore was a man of fantastic wealth, and possessed not a few other items and legacies. They are as follows. Three hundred and forty-seven million galleons in cash, gold and various artifacts. Sixty-five artifacts of unknown origin and purpose. Three houses, a cottage in Godric's hollow, and to more, in France and Switzerland, respectively."

Harry nodded at this. He'd been surprised at the man's wealth before, and there had even been ideas about the oldster having perhaps misappropriated funds from him or other children under his power. Then, of course, his logic had set in, and the obvious source was clarified.

"Thirty-nine extraordinarily valuable patents are also a part of the deceased's estate, along with several extremely lucrative stocks and shares." Yup, that was the source. Not young children a tenth his age, but rather his own prodigious intellect.

"Now, out of his liquid wealth, three hundred and thirty million have been left to Hogwarts school, along with the future benefits of all his patents and investments and stocks for the next year. The things themselves, along with the real estate and the items, are spread over a collection of friends, colleagues, and distant relatives."

"Okay…"

"But, given that the only beneficiary that responded timely to the notification, and bothered to show up at the reading, Hogwarts gets the lot."

"Good."

"So, your grace? What do you want done with all this."

"Umm, yes. Okay, the artifacts. All of them are in one vault?"

"Three, your grace."

"Okay, so transfer ownership of two of them to the Sharr estate, and of one to the Black."

"Done. Next?"

"The patents… nine each to the Sharr, Peverell, Slytherin and Gryffindor estates, and three to the Potter estate."

"Done."

"Oh… the investments…split them equally between the Eldritch estates. Add the cottages to the Black estate."

"Done, sir. Now, the money?"

"Yeah… put three forty mil in the Hogwarts accounts, and get me the seven millions in bearer bonds. Three of a mil each, four half mil ones, five 200k ones, and ten 100k ones."

"Okay, that's done" the goblin said, snapping his fingers and catching a manila envelope as it materialized."

Harry counted the money, in less time than most people would have needed to open the envelope.

"Okay, people… now only one thing remains." He said, deftly pulling out three of the million galleon bonds.

"I require an oath, that no one in this room shall ever reveal, or allow to be revealed, any facts, rumors, or any other such communications, willingly or otherwise, about what has just transpired, no matter the consequences." He finished, voice steely. Just as a precaution, he willed the Basilisk's venom glands to form in miniature just inside his mouth, releasing airborne venom that circulated back through his esophagus out of his nose.

He kept it controlled, but one wrong movement by any of the things, and the whole room would be a tomb, except for him.

The sensed it, apparently, as there was not one argument or trace of resistance. He swore the oath with them, just as a gesture of faith. After all, it wasn't as if mortal oaths meant anything to him now. Spiders might as well have tried to trap giants in their webs.

Once the oaths were all sworn, he tossed a million galleon bond at each of the senior goblins, as well as a hundred grand one at the scribe. He didn't really care, but he knew this would go a long way in soothing any ruffled feathers.

---

AND….CUT!

Abit shorter than what I've gotten you guys used to, but what can I say? The muse does as the muse does.

Anyway… I hope this serves as an answer to the people who've been asking about if Harry's gonna go holy, and if not, then weight for the interlude I have cooking. Bit of fair warning though…. Either the interlude or, if I manage it early, then the chapter after it, are gonna be a long ways off, by my estimation. First week of March on the inside.

But don't get sad, I've got about 5k words of Ocean Prince written up, and bout 2k in Overlord chapter 3, with a huge edit job in the latter (and a small one in the former). So I'm not leaving you guys entirely dry.

Oh and an important thing. I need help from you guys. See, a few chapters back, I mentioned vampires, and having just endured four sickening but decent books, I made one of the clans 'Voltur', as in Meyer's abominations.

Well, now I've forgotten half the stories (and I alternate between cursing myself and thanking all the gods every waking moment for that), and the source material is, ahem, 'inaccessible' to me now. No, don't ask, I acted like a fool and thus don't like to talk about it (My beta, Teufel 1987 knows, though. Go pester him, it'll be really fun, and might just get a chapter 48 out of him)

Um…don't have anything else.

Well then….

REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW! PRAISE ME! CURSE ME! EXPLAIN YOUR INDIFFERENCE! ASK QUESTIONS! GIVE IDEAS!