A/N: Took a bit but here is Chapter 3 with number 4 already on the way.

Chapter 3: Destiny is a Fickle Thing

"Any clue how this happened Robards?" Amelia asked as she stepped closer to the Senior Auror. The man simply shook his head.

"As far as we can tell, not a one. Even pulled some Unspeakables into this when it was clear that it wasn't the killing curse as she was still breathing, just not… there." His gaze flickered to the motionless body before returning to her own again.

It didn't take any mental gymnastics on her part to know that he was spooked by this case. Who in the Ministry wasn't at this point?

"Find out what you can Robards. If it can hit her it can hit anyone in the building." The man nodded and walked over to one of the robed Unspeakables.

Sighing and putting her monocle down so she could rub her tired eyes, Amelia decided to inspect the body herself again.

Two healers were working on the woman, murmuring spells under their breaths and examining her eyes for any motion or response. They had been at it for two hours already, ever since the worker from the Department of Maintenance discovered Umbridge's body.

This entire thing was a mess.

A political and societal scandal waiting to blow up in their faces and still they had neither hide nor hair of the culprit. As far as anyone could tell, Umbridge was in a coma that had put her mind in a vegetative state, but her body still lived. Nothing she had ever seen, that was for sure.

At first, they thought it was just like with the Longbottoms; ugly case that one was too, but the symptoms didn't fit. For one, there was no nerve damage, let alone any damage whatsoever.

She already hated the amount of paperwork and extra hours she would have to deal with thanks to this. Whoever was responsible for it was going to end up on a very short list of names that rarely lasted there. She made sure of that.

Or maybe they wouldn't.

After all, they had gotten rid of Umbridge. The culprit in question couldn't be all bad, right?

Grabbing a Daily Prophet had been pretty simple, Harry just had to get to the Leaky Cauldron and pick a discarded piece up from a table. Even at this early hour, close to five, Tom was already walking around and cleaning tables that had been left dirty from the previous day's patrons. Good thing he had managed to disillusion himself before stepping into the shabby-looking establishment. The date was all he really needed, for now at least.

June 3rd, 1988 however was not something he had expected. Most realities simply started around first or second year of Hogwarts for Harry. But it was a good place to start, all things considered. He could make sure Luna's mother didn't die in around two years and save the girl a world of pain. Orchestrating things so that Cornelius Fudge didn't make it into office after Bagnold stepped down was another thing Harry added to his long list. Maybe a trip to Azkaban after he had his Magic under control was also in his cards a lot sooner than his expected timetable.

There was much to do, and having a bit over two years before Hogwarts officially started for Harry was a blessing if he had ever seen one.

"First things first however, I need to fix my magic." He mumbled before stepping towards the brickwork at the back of the pub.

Focusing his magic in a controlled burst, similar to how he had called the Knight Bus before, the bricks before him shifted and realigned themselves into an arch through which Harry stepped into Diagon Alley. It looked much the same as it normally does when he visited it for the first time in around three years.

Walking past Slug & Jiggers Apothecary and passing by Quality Quidditch Supplies, Harry took a right and went down Knockturn Alley.

The Coffin House was a shop in the deeper bowels of said Alley. It sold quite a few interesting materials and nick knacks, most of which had a thing or two to do with raising the dead. And Inferi were sadly despised by most living folk for good reason.

Ignoring the sign that said 'closed', no real surprise at this early hour, Harry examined the door before him with interest before bursting down the couple of wards in his way with brute force. The door quickly dissolved into a tar-like liquid.

Stepping over the slowly expanding puddle and manipulating his magic so it would light up the dark room a bit more, he walked around the shop and examined various displays. There were quite a few things to look at as most of these would probably only sell to any halfway respectable wizard or witch during a blue moon or two. Dragon blood from a tortured youngling, distilled hate 'use only two drops, not more', fingernails from a Homunculus, programmable brains; the list was endless. Harry however needed only one single item.

"Sinew from a Thestral dying of old age… there we are," he mumbled as he approached the slimy looking strand that had a disturbing similarity to a black tentacle. The lock wasn't even warded properly so Harry had to take all of two seconds before he wrapped the item in the cloth it was lying on and pocketed it. With nothing more to do here for now he hopped over the pool of liquid, making sure to close his eyes and mouth when he did as it was currently eating through the wood and creating black smoke, and left the shop.

Harry's next stop was quite literally across the Alley and called Dystyl Phaelanges, dealing with bones of all kind as well as horns and fangs. Oddly enough, hairs were not included on this list.

These wards were of a better kind, a good bit trickier to unravel too. Good thing Harry wasn't trying to do that as he overpowered and eventually ripped them apart. Power was such a beautiful thing.

This time the door thankfully simply crumbled to ash that moaned a bit and formed into claws that scratched the wood beneath it, much healthier for any thief trying to do his job. Blasting the strange amalgam of living ash apart with a push, Harry stepped into the shop and saw his target nearly immediately.

"The remaining fang of the legendary 'Withering Serpent', only known specimen of the Horned Serpent kind to ever kill a Nundu in single combat. If only they knew your true value."

Harry couldn't help but grin as he took a hold of the mounted fang. It was bigger than he was tall, but a quick featherlight and shrinking charm later, he carefully put it into his pocket. Thankfully the thing was no longer magic resistant like a living Horned Serpent was, otherwise he would have had to get a crew in here to dismount it from the wall.

Taking a step outside the shop, Harry nearly stumbled over his own feet. Exhaustion hit him like a raging troll in a bathroom, his reserves were nearly spent.

While he was powerful at his current state, far beyond even some of the most trained individuals in the DMLE, wandless magic tired him quickly. Even Voldemort and Dumbledore rarely ever used more than summoning or banishment charms with it.

Stuck in an eight-year-old body that was malnourished, tired and not yet grown into its own magic, the magical exhaustion was a clear-cut case.

Harry carefully made his way back to Diagon Alley, not wanting to be mobbed or held up with his eyelids dropping in this kind of area.

Barely five minutes later he stepped back into the Leaky Cauldron. The sun was shining through the windows above him as he entered the common area with Tom already behind the bar. The man looked up and greeted him with a warm smile.

"Morning there! I honestly didn't expect any customers this early but please, have a seat young man."

Nodding his head, Harry sat down at a table in a corner, away from the warm rays. His cover story was a simple one but effective. He had previously already transfigured his muggle clothes into a black robe and while going commando was a bit uncomfortable, the disguise did its job. Clenching his teeth and frowning for a moment as Tom the barkeep turned to pick up a menu from behind him, his magic went to work and followed his will.

With a hollow crack that was muffled by an exhalation of breath, his jaw shifted a bit and Harry felt his canines jut into his lower lip, piercing the soft flesh. A wave of heat washed over his skin for a brief moment before it subsided. Two molten orbs replaced his eyes for a second as the pain in them reached indescribable levels before it too faded away.

When Tom turned back towards him he nearly dropped the menu in his hands. Where before a small boy had sat, blood red eyes and pale skin greeted the man and he had to blink his eyes rapidly to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

"Ah.. pardon me Sir, I must have been a bit more tired than I thought. Any preferences on the… blood?"

To say the barkeep was uncomfortable was an understatement as he barely met Harry's eyes now. He had to stop a small chuckle from escaping him as he looked at the man with a small smile.

"Any wizarding blood would do if it is available. If not, I have no real preferences. A few blood pops would be appreciated too."

Nodding, Tom quickly shuffled away. That he never fully turned his head away from Harry as he did so earned the man a real chuckle this time. He sometimes forgot how prejudiced even the most accepting people in the wizarding world were. It was always fun to rile them up from time to time.

Drumming his fingers on the table, Harry saw the door to the pub open and watched as two men sat down on a table not far away. They were in the middle of a heated discussion and barely even looked his way.

"… telling you it's the Cannons' year. They won the interim season and have had some incredible matches in the League. Sure, they lost all but one, but Horton is holding those rings tighter than anything I have seen in a long time."

"You are delusional mate. It's been over a decade that they had any chance at the Cup ever since Lancens left. He was who brought them back to their golden era in 75, and we all know it. Without someone like him joining the team again they won't even come close to finishing in the top three of the League."

It was obvious to him that they were having a rather heated discussion about a team that brought some bittersweet memories to Harry. Shaking his head to rid himself of any distracting thoughts, Harry eyed the bar that was currently empty of any presence and then let his eye wander back to the two wizards. More specifically, to the pouch of Galleons on the hip of one of them.

Harry had been contemplating how he would pay for his 'meal' for a good while now even before he entered the pub. Not to mention that he would also have to rent a room for at least a few days.

Once again making sure that no one was looking, Harry focused the last scraps of his magic and sent a tendril towards the pouch. Slowly, ever so slowly the top of it opened and a single coin floated out of it. Soon enough a few more golden brothers, a pile of silver sisters and a hand full of bronze sons floated over the ground as they made their way towards Harry's own pocket.

Where before he had contemplated confunding Tom or obliviating him to get a room, maybe even break into a home or two, this was a much simpler and cleaner way of doing things. If only shopkeepers in Knockturn Alley were trusting enough to leave at least a bit of money in the registers but no, it wouldn't be Knockturn Alley if they did.

At least for now he didn't need to steal from anyone poor. The hand full of coins in his pocket didn't seem to even make a dent in the bursting pouch of the wildly gesturing wizard a few tables away. Definitely a Pureblood.

"Here you go, Sir. Hope you enjoy your drink."

Seemingly having regained some of the cheer he had lost when he saw Harry posing as a Vampire, Tom dropped a mug full of sparkling red liquid as well as a few crimson colored lollipops on the table.

Thanking the man and handing over the three sickle and four knuts, Harry picked up his mug and gulped down nearly the entire thing at once. It was disgusting and not exactly what he would call a good breakfast, but it would have to do until he got into the Alley and could drop his disguise for another.

Why pretend to be one person when you can be two?

The Blood Pops were a bit better tasting, having a truck load more sugar in them than the normal blood he had just consumed, but Harry was too tired to finish them all and stepped up to the bar as another group entered the pub behind him.

"Morn' Tom" A voice exclaimed and Harry very nearly flinched when he recognized it.

Mundunges Fletcher had never been a man of propriety or poise, but the rags that hung on his body as he approached the bar next to Harry spoke volumes of the man's current lot in life. Dressing in clothes you wouldn't be caught dead in was something Harry understood, but the way Mundungus carried himself it seemed he reveled in his abyssmal state of attire.

"You'd never effin believe what I bleedin' heard this mornin' Tom," the man started, completely ignoring Harry as he stood not two feet away.

Raising a brow at the excited tone of the other wizard, Tom pulled out a few knuts and put them on the counter. Faster than Harry could even blink and they disappeared between the folds of the rags Mundungus was wearing.

"Been up close to the Ministry entrance early today talking to folks and all, you understand. Busy business.

"Anyways, I been conversing with some fine gentlemen for some time and lo and behold, Aurors suddenly start pooling out of that bloody visitor entrance. Asked them and I some rather pointed questions, but thankfully nothing stuck. Friend' of mine's been working there for a few months and I managed to get some info on the entire thing. Apparently, and this is totally top secret and all so don't tell anyone, Umbridge the effin Undersecretary of the Minister's been found dead in her office. Everyone was all hush hush about it but I tell ya, that is something I would have bloody loved to see."

Mundungus let out a raspy laugh that sounded more like gravel shifting beneath iron toed boots, not a pleasant sound.

"I don't ken how it happened, don't really care much to be honest with you Tom, but that toad was a nightmare if I ever seen one in human form. Nearly sent me to Azkaban once when I didn't effin sell her a pure silver necklace for a few bloody knuts."

Tuning out the rumbling man beside himself, Harry asked for a room and paid for three nights before walking upstairs.

That they had found the body had been expected. Whether the woman was really dead or not didn't matter too much in the grand scheme of his plans, so Harry shoved the thought aside for now as he stepped inside his new home.

It wasn't much to look at. A bed big enough for two, a dresser that had seen better days and a nightstand that had scratches on it, probably from an annoyed kneezle or two.

It wasn't much but it was his. For now at least.

Locking the door behind himself and having barely enough power for a simple alarm ward should someone open the door, Harry collapsed on the bed and fell asleep before his face even hit the pillow.

Harry awoke a few hours later with a crick in his neck.

Moaning loudly in protest as his entire body sent waves of pain through him when he began to move, he eventually stumbled out of the bed and into the small bathroom included with the room.

The pain wasn't really much of a surprise, channeling the amount of magic through his body as he had, it normally required years of training at the least. But it was an annoyance to be sure.

Washing his face and gulping down a few handfuls of water to quench any thirst, he began his normal morning routine, although it was probably closer to evening at the moment.

When he exited his room he went downstairs and walked through the now much fuller pub back into Diagon Alley.

Changing his form into an aristocratic and Pureblood look that could have been an offshoot to the Malfoys he went to get some food and tried to ignore the spike of pain when he used magic.

He really needed to finish his wand soon or he was going to die from magic poisoning.

But there were a few things to do before that, namely gathering a bit more information.

The easiest way would have been to pull another Umbridge and rip it from someone's mind, but that would create a pattern. An incident might be overlooked, a pattern however hinted at malicious intent and would bring Aurors on his trail faster than he could say 'Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans'.

Not that he could say that particular string of words very fast…

No, what he would do was simple. He would use something so ingenious and incredible that it couldn't possibly backfire.

He would play the child card.

Walking up to Flourish and Blotts, Harry made sure to bring a rather haughty look onto his face as he entered the store. Judging by the way people raised their eyebrows when they looked at him, his sneer was looking constipated enough to make any blond arrogant Pureblood proud.

The person manning the counter was a middle-aged witch with sallow features and a pair of glasses that looked oddly like the ones he had thrown away not long ago. Maybe she was one of those older Harry Potter fangirls that had sent him rather risqué letters and pictures over the years. The thought alone brought a bit of bile into his mouth that he had to force back down.

"Hello, dear. Anything in particular you are looking for?" Her voice was soft and friendly enough and he tried to not think of her outside her robes and other attire as those long-forgotten pictures entered his poor mind.

"Yes, I am here for some information on various people and subjects. As this is a bookstore I thought it paramount to come here first in my quest for answers as soon as I returned to Britain with my family."

Puffing out his chest in a proud manner as he talked about his family helped establish that he was indeed one of the elite.

"Well I am sure that I can give you at least some answers to your questions, dear. What would you like to know?"

And so he asked a few random questions that every Pureblood heir would ask when they entered another country while littering them from time to time with real ones.

Was Albus Dumbledore still Headmaster, Supreme Mugwump and Chief Warlock? How are Werewolves treated here? What was the story about this Boy-Who-Lived and was it really true? Who were the Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot? What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?

The usual, all things considered.

This was repeated over the evening as the sun sank beyond the horizon in quite a few shops until Harry had a good enough understanding of the world. Using a different face each time he asked someone helped to keep the process relatively low-key. Even if he now felt like death warmed over.

As far as Harry could tell, this was the one. The world he had been waiting for.

A few things were slightly off but there had been no major divergence of any kind. Everyone who should be alive was and everyone who wasn't, well they weren't around either as far as people knew.

It was the first time in a long period of stagnation that Harry felt a flicker of hope burning in his old soul.

If it was like this… yes, this he could use.

Here he could build and tear things down when they stood in his way.

He felt oddly at home.