Hello everyone. It sure has been a while, huh? Sorry about that. I've never been a disciplined writer, so often times I will just... stop writing. I don't really have an excuse besides laziness, but I am making an effort to keep to a more rigid schedule. I will try to upload a new chapter every week or two.

With that out of the way, here is the chapter!

The following week at the Dursley's was just as horrible as Harry remembered it being. He had to continue to play the part of the downtrodden orphan around Marge, a fact that he found chafing. With unlimited access to his past memories, he had found that more often than not, he had risen to the top of whatever society he found himself in. With those memories of past grandeur, being forced back on the bottom rung was a bitter pill to swallow.

Still, things weren't all bad. He kept out of his relatives' way, and they in turn avoided him. He and Vernon had some sort of unspoken agreement that they would keep him and Marge as far apart as they could. He spent most of his time out of the house, wandering the neighborhoods while reviewing old experiences in his mind. The park was a favorite spot of his. He could sit on the swings for hours and not be bothered. Occasionally, he would run into groups of children out and about, enjoying their summer holidays with a carefree exuberance that he envied, but they tended to leave him alone.

He spent his quiet moments at the park thinking; really, it seemed like that was all he was doing these days, but he had much to do before he returned to Hogwarts. The quickest way to power was in reliving old memories and gleaning what he could from them. The day after he dreamt of Hrothgar, he had found a way to remove the trace from his wand, thanks to his life as a Greek enchanter several thousand years ago. How he wished to see the gleaming walls of Troy again... Harry shook himself, focusing his thoughts. That was the only negative he had encountered about this whole arrangement so far; he was prone to daydreaming and getting sidetracked while getting caught up in lives he had lived.

Anyways, he was now fully confident that he could remove the trace from his wand. The only problem was that he needed to use magic in order to do it, so he was still out of luck in the short term. Hermione had written him back just a few days ago with a letter that, to Harry's now experienced mind, seemed to also hint at her feelings for him. She had also asked him if they could go shopping for school supplies together, and Harry had readily agreed.

She was currently vacationing in France with her family but would be returning the week before term started. Harry had also received an owl from Ron, where the much poorer boy delightedly told of the money his family had come into, and their own vacation away in Egypt. Harry was happy for the Weasley's, however thoughts of their vacation invariably turned his mood sour; it was a grim reminder of the continued existence of Peter Pettigrew, and the start of his horrible third year.

That rat had been the cause of so many tragedies in his life, and all Harry wanted to do was end his miserable existence, nice and slow. It pained him greatly that, according to his current plans, he wouldn't be able to do anything to him for another year at least. He knew where all of Voldemort's horcruxes were at this point, but he had no idea where Voldemort himself was, and he was counting on the rat to lead him to the dark lord, no matter how much he disliked it. He still needed time to bond with witches and grow his power, otherwise he couldn't be certain of his victory. He had the knowledge and skill to best Voldemort, yes, but he knew he had nowhere near enough power.

His only consolation was that he knew he wouldn't let anyone die this time around. Besides, after Pettigrew lead him to Voldemort, he would end the both of them and be done with it. Clearing Sirius' name after that shouldn't be too hard, either. And if the ministry wanted to kick up a fuss, well, Harry was tired of being the whipping boy. Defeating Voldemort was just a stepping stone he was going to use to elevate himself to the top of the wizarding hierarchy.

The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the park as it signaled its crimson farewell. Harry sighed to himself. It was time to head home. He ran a hand through his hair, deciding he could wait just a moment longer before he left. He leaned back in the swing, then forward, slowly gaining height and momentum. When he couldn't swing any higher or faster, he let go, falling through the air. Instead of crashing to the dirt in a painful sprawl, however, the boy gently floated down to the ground, a smile on his face.

This was one reason he wasn't in any particular hurry to get the trace removed; it turned out that, in several lifetimes, he had been a master of wandless magic. As long as he left his wand at the house, there was no way for the Ministry to know if he had been using magic or not. He would still prefer his wand, as it still allowed him far greater control than he had without it, but he was far from helpless.

Harry whistled as he walked down the street, finding himself in a pleasant humor this evening. It was the day he had been waiting for, after all. The last day of Marge's visit. He had much to do, and he couldn't wait. He arrived back at the Dursley's to find the family having dinner in the kitchen.

"There he is, that hooligan has finally returned, has he?" came Marge's drunken voice from the kitchen.

Harry strolled into the kitchen, a thin smile on his face. It was almost time, he just had to keep it together for a little bit longer.

"Hello," he greeted casually, not a trace of his former meekness to be seen. Marge narrowed her eyes, almost choking on her drink as she spluttered at him about his attitude. Vernon shared a look with Petunia before glancing his way, a confused expression on his face. Dudley, lard that he was, hadn't even noticed Harry enter the room, too busy stuffing his face with whatever his mother had prepared for dinner.

"I trust everyone has had a pleasant day?" he asked, fighting to keep a smirk from coming to his face as he took a seat next to his fat cousin. Vernon and Petunia remained quiet, clearly unsettled by his abrupt change in attitude, but Marge was either too drunk or too stupid to tread carefully.

"You have quite the nerve to come traipsing in here late, without a care in the world," she said, sloshing her drink in her hand clumsily. "Your poor aunt has slaved away in this kitchen, and you would rather laze about outside than help her. Vernon is too soft on you. If you were under my care, I would give you a good thrashing for that."

"It seems to me that the only thing you've given a good thrashing lately is dessert," Harry said, unable to stop a grin from spreading across his face. The glass that was in Marge's hand shattered, and this time it wasn't his doing. The woman was scowling at him, face red and hands trembling in rage. She got up and made to come at him, but he merely held up a hand, a force of magic blowing Marge into the wall and holding her there.

Petunia screamed. Vernon rose to his feet, fear keeping him from coming any closer. Dudley, finally looking up from his food, quaked in his chair before diving under the table.

"Cease this at once!" Vernon yelled, face red with rage.

"I'm tired of being pushed around," Harry said with a bored tone, completely ignoring his uncle. "You lot have never once treated me as family. You've treated me as something less than human. Locking me in a cupboard, feeding me meals through a catflap? Do you have any idea how abnormal that is?"

He waved his hand, casting a wandless sticking and muffling charm on Marge, keeping her silent and stuck to the wall. He pulled out a chair, sitting down nonchalantly, as if this was a completely normal occurrence. He reached for the bottle of wine that was still on the table, wandlessly conjuring a glass, and pouring it. He sat back, nursing his glass, but paying it no mind. He was watching his family intently. They were so still it was as if all of them had been petrified.

"You can't do this," Vernon said at length, his voice barely more than a whisper. "They'll expel you for doing magic like this."

Harry inclined his head, that small smirk still on his face.

"If I'm going to be expelled for this, then I might as well go ahead and see what else I can do before anyone comes, wouldn't you agree?" he asked.

Vernon sat down with a whimper, head downturned. Harry took a sip of his wine, smacking his lips at the taste. It wasn't particularly good; he'd had much better in the grand halls of Justinian, seated next to a gorgeous window overlooking the beauty of Constantinople far below, but that had been long, long ago... He shook himself, bringing himself back to the present. His family still stared at him wide-eyed, afraid to even move. Harry grimaced; he had been looking forward to his revenge all week, but now that he was enacting it... seeing the fear in their eyes, how helpless they were... this wasn't fun anymore.

"Look," he breathed out slowly, eyes on the table. "You are all awful people. The way I was treated growing up... Nobody should have to experience that. You're all nothing more than overgrown bullies and I'd be lying if I said I didn't hate you all, family or not. But," he said, standing from the table and glancing around the room, meeting each of the Dursley's eyes. "I honestly have more important things to do. None of you are even worth it, no matter how angry I feel about you. I'm leaving. After tonight, you'll never see me again. Goodbye,"

He was almost to the door when Vernon's voice cut through the silence.

"Let her go! Get Marge down from there this instant!"

Harry stopped, not bothering to turn around.

"I will not harm any of you," he called over his shoulder. A memory passed through his mind then, from his current life. An image of a young boy stuck in a tree for an entire night, a vicious dog below him, and adults that delighted in the boy's misery. "But I will not do Marge the courtesy. The magic will wear off tomorrow. She will have to wait."

And he was gone.

It was a warm summer night, the sun having already passed below the horizon. The stars were veiled by dark clouds, casting the street in gloom. Harry wasted no time after leaving the house, heading to a clump of bushes a couple of houses over. He rummaged around for a moment before pulling his trunk into the open. He quickly opened it, retrieving his wand and pocketing it. He'd ferreted all of his stuff out here the day before, needing his wand away from the premises so the Ministry didn't detect the use of magic at his relatives' house. Belongings in hand, Harry set off down the street.

Despite being a young teenager out in the dark by himself, Harry wasn't afraid. He was more dangerous than anything he could encounter tonight, and he knew it, taking his time getting to his destination. He had almost forgotten just how far he had walked last time around, when he finally got to the street he had accidentally summoned the Knight Bus on, all those years ago. He dropped his trunk, settling himself down on the curb. From here, it was just a waiting game.

Sure enough, just like last time, two glowing yellow eyes peeked out at him from across the street. Harry breathed a small sigh of relief; for a moment there, he had thought he had gone to the wrong curb. The figure of a large black dog emerged from the darkness, watching him silently. They looked at each other from afar, neither moving. Harry briefly wondered what Sirius' actual plan had been in coming here; just to check on him, or maybe try to meet with him? It didn't matter now. Harry would decide for him.

"Padfoot!" Harry called across the street, just loud enough for his voice to carry to the canine's ears. The dog started in surprise, obviously not expecting Harry to recognize him. Harry beckoned the animal over, and the dog came, sitting down on the grass next to Harry. It tilted its head in curiosity, eyes never leaving his face.

"I know it's you, and I know you're innocent," Harry wasted no time, deciding to get to the chase. "Come on out. I need to speak with you."

The dog jerked again before shaking its head. It looked about on either side of the road carefully, checking for any sudden danger, before seeming to agree that the coast was clear. One brief transformation later, and the thin form of Sirius black was sitting next to him. He was much too thin, his tattered prisoner's uniform hanging loosely on his body. Harry felt an immediate hatred twist in his gut towards the ones who had done this to his godfather.

"Harry-you're-but how?" Sirius stuttered, unable to string a sentence together in his shock.

"Look, I don't have the time to explain everything now, but I know the whole story. I know about Pettigrew," Harry said, noting how Sirius' eyes glinted at the name. "But we cannot go after him just yet, alright?"

"Why not?" Sirius asked in indignation. "That rat ruined my life. Ruined your life, Harry. We can't let him go after everything he's done!"

"We aren't letting him go," Harry interjected. "First we need to get you rested and healed up, then we are going to clear your name, and only then will we go after the rat," he projected some of his magic into his words, hoping that it would calm his godfather down. It was a neat little trick that powerful wizards used to help sway an audience, one he had picked it up from a French wizard some centuries ago. Sirius' face softened, and he looked at Harry with a great sigh, the breath rattling through his raspy throat.

"That's the only thing I know to do," the older man said, tears glistening in his eyes. "All I've ever thought about is revenge."

Harry reached out a hand and patted him on the shoulder, almost knocking the emaciated man over. He was honestly astonished that Sirius had managed to survive the escape from Azkaban, let alone the journey here.

"Don't worry Sirius. I'm here now," he said. Sirius looked at him with wonder, but then lowered his head in shame.

"We haven't even met and you're trying to comfort me," he said, his voice forlorn and broken. "Just like James or Lily would have done in your place... but it should be me that comforts you, Harry. I've failed you. I'm sorry."

"I owe you more than you can possibly imagine," Harry said. An image swam into his mind's eye, of Sirius falling through the veil while he just stood there, powerless to help. "You never have to apologize to me. Ever."

Seeing Harry so emphatically defending him seemed to break something in Sirius. Tears welled in his eyes, and before Harry knew it he was pulled into a tight hug while Sirius cried his eyes out. Harry hugged him back just as hard, fighting the urge to cry himself. He'd missed his godfather so much, and now seeing him again with the chance to save him caused a wave of emotions that Harry could barely hold contained.

Eventually, they pulled apart. Sirius seemed to have cried himself out, folding in on himself and rocking back and forth on the grass. Harry was honestly worried about his health. He seemed so spent, so empty. He needed help as soon as possible.

"Right," Harry said, getting to his feet. He offered Sirius a hand, which the man took after some hesitation. "We can't stay here all night, we've got to get going."

"Where to, Harry?" Sirius asked.

"To Potter Manner, of course," Harry said with a slight grin.

He remembered before he had been killed by Voldemort he had been curious about his family after visiting their graves in Godric's Hollow. If they'd had so much money, why had they been hiding out in a modest house? Hermione had known the answer, of course. She knew everything he needed to know. She had been the one to tell him of his ancestral home, and of its destruction during the First War. Voldemort himself had done it, oddly enough. His grandfather, Charlus Potter, had put up quite a fight, but the Dark Lord was on another level compared to just about every other witch or wizard on the planet.

"But that place was destroyed," Sirius said in protest. "There's nothing for us there."

"Not yet," Harry said, a small smirk touching his lips. "But there will be. We will build it anew. Dobby!" he called into the stillness of the night.

Within moments, with a loud pop echoing through the night, Dobby materialized in front of them.

"Mr. Harry Potter sir!" the excitable elf said in his high, squeaky voice. "What can Dobby be doing for you?"

Sirius looked to him, obviously shocked at the sudden appearance of the house elf. Harry tried not to tear up when faced with yet another who had died for him, but he steeled himself, determined not to let his emotions show.

"Hello Dobby," he forced out past the lump in his throat. "We need to get to Potter Manor, would you be willing to help us out?"

Dobby nodded, his long ears flapping about his head as he did so.

"Dobby would be honored to help Harry Potter, sir!" he said. Then his ears drooped. "Only, I do not know where that is," he scrunched his face up, recoiling as if preparing himself for a blow.

Harry knelt down in front of Dobby, gently placing his hand on the elf's shoulder. Dobby flinched, but when no pain came, he hesitantly opened his eyes.

"I won't ever hurt you, Dobby. I promise," Harry said kindly. "You would be able to locate the Manor if you were an elf of House Potter, right?"

"Yes," Dobby said, beginning to wring his hands nervously. "But Dobby is no Potter elf, sir."

Harry merely smiled at him.

"Would you like to be?"

Dobby stood stock still for a moment, before positively exploding with excitement.

"Dobby, a Potter elf?" he yelled, bouncing up and down in excitement. "Do you really mean it, Sir?"

"I do, Dobby. Please, come here," Harry waited for Dobby to get himself back under control, at least enough to grasp Harry's hand in a handshake. Wasting no time, they exchanged the vows that would bind Dobby to Harry's bloodline, and with a flash of magic, the deed was done. Harry stood, brushing the dirt off of his pants as he did so. Sirius was looking at him in something akin to awe, but chose not to speak. Dobby was busy dancing around the pavement, tears of happiness streaming down his face.

"Well, that elf is lively, if nothing else," Sirius said. Harry chuckled.

This seemed to bring Dobby back to the present, as he abruptly stopped dancing a jig, turning to look at Harry and Sirius bashfully. He coughed into his fist before striding up to them, chest puffed up and face serious.

"Master Harry Potter wanted to go to Potter Manor, yes? Please hold onto Dobby," he said.

"Just one thing," Harry said as he and Sirius reached out to clasp Dobby's shoulders. "Don't call me Master. I'm just Harry to you."

To Harry's surprise, Dobby didn't burst into tears until after apparating them to Potter Manor.

The Manor itself was large - or rather, it used to be. Most of the building was destroyed, great heaps of rotting wood and rusted metal, blackened and burned was all that remained of what was surely once an imposing structure. Even the grass surrounding the property was scorched, evil magic halting the growing of new life even years after the destruction. Harry could feel it slightly, a little tingling in his body of great evil. His mind registered the unique magical signature that coated the grounds like oil residue clinging to something that was once clean.

'Voldemort.'

The name sent a flare of anger through Harry, but he clamped down on it. Now was not the time to blow up. Still, the destruction caused to his ancestral home was worse than he had imagined. He could only imagine what kind of battle must have taken place here between his grandfather and Voldemort. Such localized destructive magic he hadn't seen since a duel gone awry in Vienna, some five hundred years ago. Of course, that had been over something much less important than the destruction of a House. The two wizards had been fighting over a woman, or so that was what was said about it in the aftermath. Neither had survived the encounter, and Harry hadn't cared enough to look into it.

Still, this was a display of power that he was nowhere near to reaching. He would need to get stronger. Much stronger if he was to even have a chance at beating Voldemort. He needed to start bonding witches as soon as possible. If everything went according to plan, Hermione would be his before the start of term. But that was a worry for another time. He had to focus on the here and now.

Beside him, Sirius sagged to his knees, tears welling once more in his eyes as he stared at the ruins of Potter Manor.

"It's all gone," he croaked, lips quivering. "I had heard, of course, but... to see it with my own eyes..." abruptly he stood, wiping his nose on his dirty sleeve. "You said we would rebuild it, Harry?"

Dobby looked at him from beside Sirius, the same question on his face. Were they going to rebuild? To return this wreck to its former glory? Harry nodded. Of course they would. There was no other option.

"Sirius, we're going to make the Manor - and House Potter - greater than ever before," he promised. Sirius looked hard at him; there was a light shining in his eyes, now. A light that had been all but extinguished for twelve long years.

"And I will do all that is within my power to see it happen," Sirius said with conviction. He held out his hand. "The Potters took me in when I was in need. I swear to you now Harry, I will see to it that you take your rightful place, as the greatest Lord Potter that has ever been, and ever will be."

Harry smiled, taking his godfather's proffered hand in a firm shake.

"We have work to do."

And that's all for this chapter. Sorry again about the long wait, I'm gonna try to be much better at sticking to my schedule from now on. Thank you to everyone who has read this far, I hope you'll stick around for many chapters to come!

Chapters are going to be picking up steam from here on out. Next time, we'll begin the reconstruction of Potter Manor, though it has a long way to go before it's back to its former glory. Also, Harry begins his seduction of one Hermione Granger. I'll see you all next time!