AN: A couple of things. Firstly, if Horcruxes are included, Harry won't be the one sent to find them, because I don't want one of those crappy camping trips. That's what Hayden's for.

Secondly, I've been looking back at earlier chapters and I've decided that I'm going to rewrite some of them. Nothing big, I'm just going to fix some descriptions, change the odd line of dialogue and remove some of the really out-of-place jokes. And there's a slight plot problem.

Thirdly, I've changed my mind on how the fixing should take place.

And lastly, this is quite an important chapter. Finally, we get to see into the minds of Dumbledore and Voldemort.

Chapter XII- A Scar in the Dark

Harry stumbled into the Great Hall, rubbing his eyes as he made it to the Ravenclaw Table. A week had passed since the Sorting, and he was beginning to familiarise himself with the castle and students.

The other Ravenclaws were generally a good sort. Anthony Goldstein and Michael Corner occasionally could be bastards, but even they were usually decent. The Hufflepuffs were easy going and usually hard to rouse. The Gryffindors and Slytherins usually disliked each other at best, but the only real Slytherins who could really irritate anyone were Draco Malfoy and his lackeys.

Having been blown out of a train compartment, he'd taken it upon himself to start stalking Harry with his pet gorillas, Crabbe and Goyle. Still, Malfoy was hardly a real danger, more like having an irritating fly buzzing around. Apparently he was supposed to be Hayden's arch-rival for something, but Harry doubted that. He'd had a bit more respect for Hayden lately, and doubted the guy could possibly be wasting his time with Malfoy.

Harry poured himself a cup of tea, and took a couple of pieces of toast. Hm. What was it with him always having toast for breakfast?

"Might want to drink two cups, Harry," said Terry Boot. "Remember what we've got first today?"

Harry groaned. "Defence."

Defence Against the Dark Arts was quickly becoming a very irritating subject for Harry. Well, not the subject. The teacher. That senile short woman he'd bumped into that day in Diagon Alley was the teacher. Name? Professor Black. Harry had discovered she was Sirius' great-aunt, which probably explained a lot. She was getting to be more irritating than Dumbledore, if for the reason she owned a cane which she enjoyed hitting people with.

Malfoy and Hayden were her favourite targets, but Harry had very quickly stepped into third.

But Hogwarts was starting to grow on him, and probably would've done so quicker if he pretended several people did not exist. When he'd first arrived, his paranoid mind had conjured up all kinds of ideas as what would happen, being treated like a prisoner, under the watch of teachers, gargoyles, magical portraits, and students paid to spy on him, and drugged food- the last two were really strange ideas his mind had come up with.

If anything, the place reminded him of the school with the Elumvians. It was built in ancient times, the pupils were still innocent and quite a few curious about this strange person called Harry Potter, and there were a combination of good teachers- and those who hated him (except here, the only teacher who hated him was Snape, so in that respect, Hogwarts was actually better).

Harry frowned, why couldn't he remember the name that the Elumvians had given the school? He'd been there for so many years, why would he forget? Then it dawned on him, he was meant to forget. He searched his mind for faces, names, but the names of his friends were already fading, their faces pictures in his head that were difficult to grab.

Why had not the Elumvians been worried about sending him away? He'd put it down to the spells they'd placed on his mind so he could not reveal anything, nor could his mind be searched for it. But could spells like that honestly be permanent, when he was so far from the casters?

So, in time, he'd forget it all. His disappearance for eleven years was barely brought up anymore with his family at least, would he even forget that had occurred? All that'd remain were lost memories and the sound of war-drums, but perhaps they too, would fade.

So, one side, Dumbledore had screwed him over. On the other hand, the Elumvians had done their share as well. Hell, Dumbledore had said he'd messed up with Harry's mind because of a mistake- was that mistake due to the fact the Elumvians had stuck their spells in his head as well?

"Are you alright?" Lisa Turpin asked him, leaning across the table to peer at his face. "You look like you want to kill someone."

Harry pondered his answer as he watched the neighbouring Ravenclaws lower the noise of their own conversation, sending him quick looks as they tried to listen in. They may be clever, but they don't necessarily make good eavesdroppers, Harry noted.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about the time Hayden blackmailed me not to tell anyone about him sleeping with Pansy Parkinson," Harry said flatly.

"What?" said Lisa and several other Ravenclaws simultaneously as Harry took a draught from his cup. Now that he mentioned Hayden- he lowered the cup and looked over at the Gryffindor table. He cast a look at his siblings. Hayden was talking with his close friends, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. Oriana was with a few girls in her year he didn't know the name of, chatting animatedly with them.

As for the rest of his family- his parents had sent him a letter congratulating him on getting Sorted into Ravenclaw. He didn't understand why, he'd just put a Hat on in front of the school, but judging from the closing few lines, they were trying to hint that he should write back every now and then. Well, as long as they didn't mind letters that contained very little fact.

Hm, he'd dedicate the first paragraph about Professor Flitwick's attempts to force gnomes for his diamond mining operations- that sounded familiar. It was what Luna Lovegood told him when he'd been introduced to Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw. He really had to get better at staying away from her otherwise he might end up believing this stuff. Although still, he was going to put that in his letter.

Sirius and the Twins had sent him a few letters too. Orion and Lyra had congratulated him on being a huge nerd to get into Ravenclaw, while Sirius had written his message under that, giving him advice that was not suitable for Harry to ever tell anyone else.

By the time he'd broken out of his thoughts, the Ravenclaws had already figured out he was messing with him and had started talking about something else.

"-sounds good. Hm- Harry, you want to come with us?" Michael asked.

"What?" He said. "Wasn't paying attention."

"You have a free after Defence?" Terry asked, and after receiving a nod of acknowledgement, he continued. "You want to play Quidditch with us? We're giving the seventh-years a game."

"Sorry," Harry said. "Couple of reasons- I don't have a broom."

"Borrow one," said Anthony. "Don't your brother and sister both have brooms?"

"And secondly," Harry continued, unfazed, "I need to stop by the library."

"What book is stopping you from playing Quidditch?" Michael said, in mock outrage.

"Just a little something from the Restricted Section," Harry replied.

"Wait a minute," said Terry. "You have a permission slip, then?"

"Permission slip?" Harry repeated. "You need a permission slip for the Restricted Section?" The book he'd actually been after was The History of Magical Foci. He'd heard that was in the Restricted Section, but he figured that was probably some age limit and being sixteen was probably good enough.

"Well, yeah, otherwise it wouldn't be Restricted," said Terry. "Guess no one told you since you're new. You want to play Quidditch then?"

Harry shrugged. "Alright. Guess I'll ask Hayden for his broom in Defence."

But his mind was not on Quidditch.

He was thinking about the book. He'd heard about it from a couple of seventh-years. It had a chapter on staves, including detailed diagrams that would come in handy for someone trying to recreate one. He couldn't do so, but he knew someone who could stand a better chance.

Although he still couldn't work out if it was even worth it. Harry was still getting used to adjusting to a wand, but he knew he was quickly getting more compatible with it with every spell he casted, and by the time he got Ollivander to make a new staff, he'd probably have already reached the same compatibility he had with his old staff.

The reason he'd been so attached to the last one was because it was really his last memento of his past, well, apart from that "battle-armour" which was shrunken down and shoved somewhere. Technically, it was more of a robe with some resistance to magic, but he and a few friends back there had always called it battle armour.

But the permission slip- Harry was uncomfortable with the idea of letting teachers know what he was up to for the reason Dumbledore would learn about it, and chances were, the man who'd broken the thing in the first place wouldn't be too keen on him getting a replacement. Even so, the teachers probably wouldn't give their permission for a book unrelated to the syllabus of his lessons.

Which meant Harry had two options: beg the teachers or steal it. Both ideas were bad, there was no denying it. But if he could pull the latter off- after all, he didn't actually have to steal it, just find the chapter and use a Copying spell.

"Master," greeted Harry, bowing slightly. "You called for me."

Harry was near the age of sixteen. In a matter of days, he would be returning to his homeland.

"Rise, my boy," Kain was staring out of the window, watching Elumvians students outside on a fine day.

There was silence for a few moments before Kain spoke again. "The last time we spoke like this, I called you son. And you called me father. It's strange how we've already reverted to our initial ways."

Kain turned to face Harry, and strangely enough, Harry could see that Master Kain seemed even older than before, age lines forming in his face, even a beard, both uncommon amongst the Elumvian. The half-elven people, unlike the elves of old, were not immortal, and it was clear Kain was getting into his later years.

"In a few days, Harry, you will return to your homeland. You are aware of it, are you not?"

"Of course, master."

"You will be missed."

"I'll miss you too, Master."

Kain chuckled. "Not just me. You have made friends here, Harry. They will eventually forget many other students, but I doubt few will ever forget you."

"Well, as the human guy," said Harry. "They won't remember anything else."

"Perhaps," Kain sighed disappointedly. "Did you know, Harry, I have remembered every student I have ever taught, Harry."

"All of them?" Harry said.

"Indeed," Kain nodded. "And few of them have ever surprised me as much as you. Not just because of your human status, or that you stayed here for eleven years rather than eight. You were different, in another way."

"Wow-here I was thinking you might be vague about this," said Harry. "What is it then?"

"None of the children I ever teach have ambition," said Kain. "That is the sad fate of us Elumvians, we are too tied down here in our islands. A lucky few will sometimes travel to the human realms, and we can update our knowledge with the progressing culture of Muggles and wizards, but the rest are just average. No matter how much we progress, it means nothing, Harry. We are lost from the world. We can never change it again. Our age came long ago."

"Couldn't I come back though?"

A flicker of something passed across Kain's face. "It is not our way. I wish you well, Harry. Do well wherever you go. Perhaps-no."

"What?"

"Never mind," Kain said. "You are dismissed."

Harry left the room, but still, he had seen a strange look on Kain's face that he'd never seen before in his teacher.

"Harry? Harry? Harry?"

"Leave it ta me, I'll wake 'im up!"

Harry felt the pain of a cane brought down on his shoulder.

"What the hell was that for?!" he demanded.

Judging by the way everyone was looking at him, he'd fallen asleep in DADA while Professor Black had been lecturing the class on some defensive hexes that were useful during non-verbal casting. The theory only ever seemed to bore him, he knew it was terrible, but he wasn't an organised person who could follow things like guidelines and schedules and spend half the class listening to theory when he'd rather see things for himself.

The cane poked him in the arm in a way that hurt much more than it looked. But still, it was irritating more than painful.

"Don't you be yellin' at meh, Potter!" shouted Professor Black, the short woman hopping up and down as she shouted back at Harry.

"Alright, alright, sorry," he said.

Irritated, Professor Black hobbled away. "Now, everyone, get into pairs and start practisin' spells! Potter, you better do sum good today or you'll be in detention!"

The students shuffled away from the desks as the elderly teacher waved her wand and stacked them against the walls. Harry found himself paired with Terry Boot, who seemed to enjoy casting jinxes; but he didn't seem that good with shields.

"Terry, dodge this one," Harry hissed through his teeth. Terry looked confused but nodded, and Harry blasted a Banisher at him.

Terry managed to sidestep, turning around after he did so, and he was just in time to see Draco Malfoy getting blasted across the room.

"Terry, why did you do that?" Harry scolded. "You're supposed to shield them! I'm terribly sorry, Malfoy."

As Crabbe and Goyle helped a dazed Malfoy out of the desks he'd been blown into, Terry shot Harry a grin. "What did he do to deserve that?"

Harry only gave his own grin. He hadn't lifted a wand against Malfoy since that incident on the train, but after Malfoy's latest attempt to try and hit him with a few curses while he'd been on his way to DADA, he figured he'd retaliate.

Harry supposed this might be considered bullying and was just aggravating the situation, but from what he'd heard around school, no matter how badly he treated Malfoy, he really did have it coming. Out of all the students at Hogwarts, Malfoy was certainly the biggest arsehole of the lot.

"Think that was funny, Potter?!" Malfoy had recovered, and had stormed across the room with his thugs beside him.

"Well, yeah. I kinda did."

Terry stood beside Harry, and then a few more Ravenclaws had approached, as well as Hayden and his close friends, Ron and Hermione.

"What's all this?" Professor Black piped up, brandishing her cane as if it was a sword.

Harry shrugged. "You told me to do some good."

"We'll 'ave nun of that. If I catch yer fighting again, I'll lay meh cane across your shoulders. Both of yer!"

"Seriously," Harry started. "Isn't hitting us against the law?"

"Or I'll put yer in detention," said Professor Black. "Is that against the law?"

"No, no, that's fine," said Harry.

"What?!" Malfoy yelled. "He attacked me! Why am I getting in trouble!?"

Professor Black jabbed him in the stomach with her cane. "Don't yell at meh, boy." She said, as Draco clutched his stomach, stooping over, the jab apparently a lot harder than it had looked.

He shot a hateful glare at Harry, who frowned. He'd have to consider that if Malfoy did get angry enough, he might do something irrational and unexpected. It depended- how far would Malfoy be willing to go to get revenge?

Albus Dumbledore unwrapped a sherbet lemon. He popped it into his mouth, enjoying the sweet, and soon enough he cracked it open with his teeth to reveal the sherbet powder inside. But the sweet and sour taste could only distract him for so long, and soon enough his thoughts fell to other matters.

Harry Potter. He turned to the window- he could see him from here, playing Quidditch with his fellow students.

The young youth was quite the enigma, an intelligent boy, with plenty of potential- and of course, one of the candidates to the prophecy. He'd actually wondered whether Hayden was the true Boy-Who-Lived with Harry's reappearance, but in the end, it didn't matter. Both had been marked in Voldemort's attack- and for both to have remained like this had meant both had been corroded with Dark magic- and unless he had been aiming at a specific target and had not been firing at whichever he happened to point at first, this could mean they were both still valid candidates.

And well, maybe prophecies were just a load of rubbish anyway. But sadly, Voldemort certainly believed in them, which meant the Twins-Who-Lived would hardly be left alone to their lives.

He began to resume sorting through his mail, mostly so he could stop pondering about the Potters. Although that happened, his mood sank from reading the first letter he'd received. Despite his status as the Head Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards- which was arguably the most powerful position in the world- the other countries of the magical world were refusing to provide aid, just as they'd done in the last war with Voldemort.

And although Dumbledore hated the idea of even remotely condoning their actions, he knew they'd also seen the terror of Voldemort. The monster had spent many years travelling the world to learn as much as he could and had caused much chaos in his wake. Not all of it was ever confirmed as his, but the handiwork seemed to be the same.

Although Albus still had over a century's worth of knowledge to draw back for, he was getting too old for this, and would soon be helpless to even hold Voldemort off. And Harry, Hayden, or even Neville Longbottom- it would take them a very long time to ever be able to duel Voldemort to a standstill, let alone kill him. Even if they worked together, he doubted they would win.

For a moment, he wondered if the power mentioned in the prophecy was unity.

But Voldemort had been getting weaker. And he knew why. Dumbledore knew not whether it was intentional, but Voldemort had found a way to siphon magic from Harry. But, once Dumbledore had closed his link (admittedly, he'd never done such a thing before in all his years and had resulted in messing around with the boy's magic) Voldemort's power weakened considerably.

The only answer was that Voldemort had grown addicted to Harry's magic. This meant for the time being, Voldemort was weak. Eventually, he'd overcome the addiction, but for now, they had a chance to strike, and strike hard.

Finally- he'd remembered, back at the graveyard, Voldemort had tried to demonstrate that there was no blood protection- but there had been something, albeit much weaker.

Weak, but it had helped Hayden vastly in escaping the situation.

Dumbledore cleared his mind, reaching for another sherbet lemon. He spent too much time drifting into thought nowadays.

The next letter was selling Male Enhancement Products. He made a note to send it to Severus after he'd forged a second letter to go with it to make it seem like Sirius or James had sent it. True, he wanted the three of them to grow up, but their old rivalry had probably gone well too far by now, so he may as well get some fun out of it.

"Brilliant game, lads." Terry grinned, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders. "And Harry, you never mentioned you were good at Quidditch."

They'd beaten the seventh-years. It had been close at first, but eventually the seventh year chasers had been too good and started putting too many goals through the hoops. Michael had then switched from Seeker to take Anthony's place as Beater, and Anthony had taken Harry's place as Chaser, letting Harry play as Seeker.

He'd then just snatched the Snitch just before the seventh-years could've scored the goal that would've put them a hundred and fifty points ahead.

"I'm decent enough at it," said Harry. "And get off me."

Terry removed his arm, still grinning. "Maybe you should try out for the team or something. You just proved you're better than Cho at being a Seeker."

Harry couldn't help but smile as he recalled nicking the Snitch when it'd been just out of reach for the attractive Asian girl. "Sorry. Not interested in the team."

"What's up with the old stay-away-from-me thing you try and do?" Michael said.

"Hey, leave him alone," said Anthony. "He's a rebel, a loner, and he doesn't-"

"Stop it."

"Told you," said Anthony.

A clock somewhere in the school chimed. Harry stood pressed against the wall opposite it, observing the minute hand point up- as did the hour hand.

An eerie pale blue light appeared down the corridor.

'Ghost.' He thought, ducking into a dark alcove, letting the spectre pass him. It wasn't until the light had completely faded when he moved on.

He resumed stalking along on his path. If he was correct, and he was sure he was, the library should be just around the corner from here-

And he found himself having to freeze as he heard footsteps. The corridors were still very dark, and Harry moved behind a suit of armour, as close as he could get to it without knocking it over.

To his surprise, it was Snape. The man strode through the corridor, muttering curses about something. Harry was tempted to follow Snape, but concluded it would be a very bad idea, and continued towards the library.

It was time to see if the information that the Ravenclaws had given him was correct. He'd asked a few others about it, and their stories seemed to match. The teen entered the library, not making a sound. He quickly found his way in the Restricted Section, beginning to browse through the books as quickly as he could, the only light a Lumos from his wand.

His eyes lit up, as he found the book.

The History of Magical Foci.

Harry opened it to a random page, looking for what he needed about staffs.

Many wizards are of the belief that all magic can be performed wandlessly; sadly, the power required means that many of the best wizards can barely perform a few wandless tricks. It is an art that can be performed only but the most skilled. Not just anyone can carry out wandless magic, because-

Harry irritably flipped several pages.

Several wizards often attempt to imbue Muggle "electriq" technology with magic, but the best anyone can do is enhance them. Although some people have made some impressive progress by making these electriq foci, the truth is, that this magic-technology (occasionally known as magitech or technomagic) is in truth considerably weaker then true magic.

True magic is far beyond the powers of these toys, real magic can only be wielded by a true magical being. I fully believe for this reason that wizards are superior to Muggles. They are but mere mortals, but we are that and we possess a gift, which is all too often taken for granted and wasted.

As interesting as that part sounded, Harry continued browsing, until he finally saw the word "staff."

The ancient staff was once the most used wizard foci, but over the years, it has proved to be more practical and useful to use wands. Wands are after all, often more accurate tools, as well as being shorter and thus easier to keep on one's person.

However, over the past sixty years or so, the extendable staff has appeared, and is now fairly popular in Europe, mostly the eastern countries.

The extendable staff first came into the public eye when several followers of the Dark Lord Grindelwald attacked a man named Kain-

"What?!" Harry exclaimed.

Harry fully intended to read on, but when he heard footsteps, he realised he'd shouldn't have spoken aloud. He'd messed up. Badly. He quickly placed the book back on the shelf, before extinguishing his wand, and running for it, as the footsteps grew louder.

"Who's there!?"

It was Snape.

Harry quickly managed to sneak out of the Restricted Section, heading behind some other shelves for cover. Snape had his wand illuminated fairly brightly, but he still hadn't spotted him.

"I know you're there! Come out, and I may be lenient!"

Harry glanced around, before grabbing a book off the shelf. He threw it into the Restricted Section, before moving swiftly through the library.

"The Restricted Section." Snape was growling through his teeth. "Who are you?! Student or intruder!?"

Harry looked around. He was nearly out of the library now- but he needed some way to ensure Snape wouldn't turn around, because the moment that Lumos was pointed this way, he'd be seen.

The war-drums sounded, and a wicked idea danced through his head, and he drew his wand and pointed it at a shelf, before pointing it at another, all the while muttering several words under his breath. And then-

The shelves flew through the air. Snape span around, not noticing Harry, but the shelves crashed into each other- above his head.

Snape found himself having to block the wreckage and books falling onto him- as he noticed a person leave the library. In anger he managed to fire off a set of curses towards the person, before resuming shielding off the wreckage, screaming obscenities all the while.

The curses had missed Harry- all save one, which had glanced off his face, slashing it. Snape hadn't seen it, being too busy. Harry ran up the staircase, and he pressed his hand to his face, before looking back at it. It was covered in blood.

'Damnit, what the hell was that spell?!' Harry asked himself. He frantically tried to heal the wound, but the spell was doing very little. He was already starting to feel light-headed.

Harry headed through the nearest corridor with the least paintings. He'd never get back to the Ravenclaw dorm in this state. He saw a door, and took his chance, wrenching it open, and slamming it behind him. He quickly locked the door, before glancing around. Just an unused classroom.

Harry stumbled against the wall, slumping into the teacher's chair. He kept casting healing spell after healing spell at his face, concentrating his magic as well as he could.

After frantic minutes of casting, he began to feel the blood formclot.

'Jeez, that was a close one,' Harry sighed in relief, bringing his hand to his face again, wiping away the excess blood. And there was a lot of it.

He still felt dizzy from the blood loss, but this wasn't the time for that now. 'Better think of a way to get back to the dorm- and fast.'

Obviously, Harry was somewhat nervous the next day. He'd done his best to deal with the curse, but it had been no ordinary Cutter. It had left a scar stretching diagonally from near his mouth to half-way up his cheek, and he'd been able to do little to it.

For some reason, Anthony Goldstein had some sort of face powder, which Harry had been able to use to cover most the scar. Anthony had gladly let him take it; on the condition Harry told no one that Anthony owned make-up.

But as he entered the Great Hall, he was the last person to enter, having spent so much time disguising the scar. Dumbledore was standing, clearly about to address the Hall.

"Sit down, Mr Potter," said Dumbledore, gesturing towards the Ravenclaw table.

Harry found an empty seat at the Ravenclaw table. "What the hell's going on?"

"Something big happened, apparently," replied Terry.

"Wow, who'd have thought it?" said Harry. "Dumbledore about to address the entire school? No, clearly he's just lost a sock."

"Maybe a teacher is quitting? Snape looks mad, maybe he got fired?" Michael hazarded a guess.

"Life couldn't be that good," said Mandy Brocklehurst depressively.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and immediately the whispers quietened. "This will come as a shock to many of you. Last night, Professor Snape was carrying out his usual patrol rounds, but he was distracted by a disturbance in the school library."

"Believing it was just a student out of curfew, Professor Snape entered the library. It was then when the person attacked Professor Snape, attempting to crush him with shelves."

'Don't remember that,' mused Harry. 'But then again, maybe he thought if he told everyone I tried to crush him rather then I broke shelves over his head, it'd sound more impressive that he "survived".'

"This is a serious breach of security in the school. The Ministry has been contacted. It is more than possible that this person sneaked into the school on his own, but the possibility exists that he was given aid from within the school. If anyone wishes to come forward with any information, my office will remain open. Thank you."

Dumbledore sat down, as breakfast resumed, and Harry sighed again. How was he supposed to get that book now?

Meanwhile, at the Gryffindor table, they were having their own speculations.

"How about that, eh?" said Ron. "Snape nearly got killed."

"Yes, terrible," replied Hayden. "Nearly."

Hermione huffed. "He's still a teacher. You have to respect him."

Hayden shook his head. "I'll show him respect the day he shows me respect. And since that never will happen, why exactly do I have to show him respect?"

Ron nodded sagely in agreement.

"Wonder who did try to kill him?" Hayden suddenly mused. "I think we can just narrow it down, to uh, everyone. Save himself and Dumbledore, and most the Slytherins, I suppose."

"I thought he said it was someone from outside the school," Hermione said. "Pay more attention to these things."

"Oh yeah, but who'd want to kill Snape unless they were putting up with him?" asked Hayden.

Ron shrugged. "Former student?"

"Yeah, that's it! Guy gets low Potions mark, and is denied something in later life. Angered, he hunts down the man responsible."

Hermione sighed, as Hayden and Ron started developing this new theory of theirs.

"The History of Magical Foci?" Flitwick looked curious as to why Harry would be interested in such a book.

It was the end of a Charms lesson, and Harry had realised he'd have to go the straight and narrow if he was to get that book back. In other words, actually asking. He'd just hope there was some kind of student teacher confidentiality.

"Why would you want such a book?" Flitwick asked.

"Well, I was working with Mr Ollivander this summer, and he recommended that I read it," Harry said.

He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of that excuse earlier.

"Oh, a potential wand-crafter," said Flitwick, as he signed the slip. "Mr Ollivander must think quite highly of you, Harry. Well, don't disappoint him."

Harry nodded as he took the slip, and headed to the library.

Outside it, there was quite a crowd, which had formed a rough queue. Harry shoved his way through it, before bumping into his sister.

"What's up with the crowd?" he asked her.

Oriana blinked. "Haven't you been paying attention to what Dumbledore said? Library, Snape nearly dying, assassin, shelves used as weapons, Snape nearly dying, Restricted Section, leaks in school, and did I mention Snape nearly dying?"

"Maybe once," said Harry. "So what? Queues to go in?"

"Filch is checking everyone before they go in," said Oriana.

"Who's Filch?"

"Caretaker with the cat."

"That guy," Harry mused, as he tapped his forehead in thought. "Oh, the guy who always seems to be obsessed with getting whipping allowed again in schools?" He asked, receiving an answering nod.

Eventually, they came to the front, where Filch probed them with what appeared to be a painted stick, before letting them in. Harry left Oriana and headed directly to the librarian, Madam Pince, and displayed the slip Flitwick had signed.

"The History of Magical Foci?" questioned Pince, staring at the slip as it was forged. She stared into Harry's face, as if by doing so he would suddenly break down and confess to lies. Eventually, she yielded, and went to the Restricted Section to retrieve the book.

Harry read through the chapter dedicated to staffs. It was nightfall. Most the school was asleep, but Harry had found out there was added security in the school.

All the more reason to be staying in his dormitory. His dorm-mates were all asleep anyway.

He'd also hadn't discovered whether the Kain in the book was Master Kain, but it seemed likely, after all, they did briefly visit the countries of humans.

Little was known about the mentioned man apart from how he'd skilfully defended himself from Grindelwald's thugs, and the extendable staff had grown in popularity in Eastern Europe, as people saw him as an inspiration- despite that this Kain had only ever fought this small gang. But the book vaguely described some of the techniques Kain had used with the staff, and they seemed reminiscent of the Elumvians' ways of fighting.

'Master, how are you right now?' Harry asked in his head. He remembered a few days before he left how he'd overheard a couple of Elumvians discuss Kain's age, and how he may retire soon, the elf-descendent being over several hundred years old. 'Did you have to stop teaching? What do you do now? Heh, did they put you in a home?'

He shook the thoughts out of his head, looking back to the book.

The extendable staff has several designs. The oldest were extended and shrunk manually, but the most common now are the size and thickness of a normal wand, but increase in size from the user's own magic.

Harry turned the page- and his eyes widened he saw a page spread of a picture of an extendable staff, heavily annotated and detailed.

"Perfect."

His first instinct was to tear the pages out- but then he remembered he'd borrowed the book, and that Pince probably would examine every last page when he returned it.

Harry took out his wand, and a roll of parchment. A quick spell and the spread was copied onto the parchment. He'd send it to Ollivander in the morning, provided he'd be able to find the Owlery. Seriously, why didn't they give people maps or something, it was so hard to find his way around this massive castle.

He packed up his stuff, before burying himself in his sheets, his eyes drifting up to look at the canopy of the four poster bed. Eventually, his eyes closed as he drifted off into sleep, unaware of what was happening many miles away in Malfoy Manor.

Lord Voldemort sat in his stone throne, staring down the round table. The seats would usually be taken by his inner circle, Death Eaters who had something new to report, and of course, when he was making deals with others.

He usually addressed the others whilst his legions of Death Eaters stood in front of him, but this was for private matters, that he couldn't have spies interfering.

Recently, he'd been thinking of the Triwizard Cup. The resurrection- he had not felt the full power that he had expected. He should've found the other twin- or even better, used both. But he had taken the power from one, now he just needed the other.

He could feel a link with the two Potter boys since that Halloween all those years ago. And since the Cup, thanks to the ritual, he'd been draining the power of the other twin. With that power, he had gotten even stronger, and his Death Eaters had grown with him.

It was easy with a little practise to teach the new recruits (or curse fodder, as he thought in his head) how to instil a little fear in the Wizard public; all it took were a few raids and blasting off some Killing Curses and the odd Crucio. And with them, he'd been massacring those who opposed him, and the odd Mudblood family here and there.

And those proud people who opposed him still, what did they do? They cowered behind their Fidelius Charms, and precious wards, hoping he, Lord Voldemort would not find them, and went to Dumbledore-

Dumbledore. Yes, the man was responsible for what had recently happened. The other twin had been found. Perfect, he had assumed. He wouldn't have to waste time with this slow draining of power, he knew enough rituals and spells to deal with it much quicker. But then- the power draining had stopped. Dumbledore had done something. With it, he began to quickly feel weaker again. His raids were down, and even his mindless Death Eaters were beginning to notice something was wrong.

"Loyal servants of Lord Voldemort," he started. "The time has come for to no longer waste time with petty raids on defenceless filth, from today; Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters will stride on the path of victory. There are three people that our enemies will look up to for hope. Scrimgeour. Dumbledore. Potter. Those three people are the three obstacles on our path. Our last obstacles. Once we have achieved victory over the weak fools of the Ministry and Dumbledore- we will rule Britain, and from there, we will spread over the globe, wiping the scum of Mudbloods and filth from the earth, and on a soil fertilised with their blood we will create a shining future for all of us pure and worthy."

The Death Eaters cheered, and Voldemort smiled to himself, pleased with the effects his words had on his servants. He looked around, at their masked faces, but instantly knowing who they were, he'd done this plenty of times before.

"Our first target will be that meddling old fool Dumbledore and the Potter boy. However, it will be a waste of both time and power to try and break the wards of Hogwarts, or any half-hearted attempts to abduct them the moment they step off them. Instead, we will capture someone who both would feel inclined to rescue. The other Potter boy- the long-lost Harry Potter."

Voldemort paused, in order to gage the reactions of the Death Eaters. No one seemed to oppose the idea- not that he would have changed his mind if he had not.

And all information in his organisation was on a need-to-know basis. He was hardly going to let these fools know he needed the boy's power. And Dumbledore knew full well what would happen, and thus intensify his efforts to save the boy. And of course, how could the twin, the "Boy-Who-Lived", the so-called "Chosen One" sit back when he realised his brother would be the ingredient of a ritual, just like him?

As well as that, he was curious. Where had this boy disappeared to for eleven years and still remained out of Dumbledore's eye?

"They cannot know of these plans. If I should find out this has been leaked- I, Lord Voldemort will personally interrogate the traitor." He waited a few moments, letting the fear sink in. "But onto other matters. Why is it that so many of Dumbledore's Order still live, and why so many Aurors still fight instead of flee?"

His Death Eaters began to look uneasily at each other, as if trying to get someone to speak. As always, it fell upon Lucius.

"My lord, we-"

"Silence!"

It wasn't that he was displeased with his Death Eaters, no. What he needed was to keep them on their toes, their loyalty ran deep, but having fear for him would never hurt. The Death Eaters were fully expectant of a few Crucios per meeting when he met with a large group.

"Hunt down the Order of the Phoenix. Hunt down the Aurors. And bring me Harry Potter- alive. That is the will of Lord Voldemort."

"It shall be done, my lord and master," the Death Eaters stated simultaneously.

They began to file out of the room, leaving him alone with Bella and Lucius. For a moment, he intended to send Bella out, before he decided against it. It did concern her nephew, after all.

"Lucius," said Voldemort. "I have made my decision on what task young Draco should receive for his ascension to our ranks."

Harry yawned, as he found the Owlery. He'd woken up early so he wouldn't have to deal with anyone else seeing him. And, despite what he first thought, the place wasn't covered with owl droppings.

A fairly old looking owl crashed past him, dropping a copy of the Daily Prophet. He picked it up to give it back to the rather dazed bird, when his eyes caught the headline:

OLLIVANDER KIDNAPPED!

AN: And there you have it. God, I hated this chapter so much. I rewrote this thing about six times, and I still couldn't get it right.

I've just realised this fic has pretty much consisted of scenes going like Harry gets screwed over/ Harry meets people/ Harry gets screwed over/ Harry meets people, with a bunch of plot twists thrown in.

Sadly, this is not likely to change. It's a brilliant formula. Ha, just messing with you, I'm trying to break out of it as soon as possible.