DMLE, Ministry of Magic.

"Do you mean to tell me that someone just appeared out of nowhere inside an anti-Apparation anti-portkey zone and killed ten of them?" The Aurors looked down, intimidated by the stern voice of their Head—Amelia Bones or the Iron Lady as she was notoriously named. The square jaw and monocle, coupled with the narrowed hawk-like eyes were more than enough for intimidation purposes.

"Yes, Boss." Dawlish muttered, hoping against hope that it would be an adequate answer. Amelia looked sharply at him and narrowed her eyes further into slits, and urged. "Is it Dawlish? Someone apparated inside an anti-Apparation zone? Someone assassinated ten purebloods who were in full eater regalia and escaped un- noticed. Is that what you are intending to say?"

"Yes, ma'am, that is exactly what I am intending to say; though I am not sure about the apparating part." A deep hollow voice resonated from behind as Amelia arched her head sideways to see the new incomer. Kingsley Shacklebolt, the tall bald dark-skinned Auror entered the discussion room along with a couple of other Aurors. He strode forward and nodded in front of his boss.

"You wish to add anything Kingsley?" Amelia urged. Kinglsey was one of the very few Aurors who showed real talent and a good head between his shoulders. He was of old school, just like Mad-eye-Moody and had a lot of expertise under his belt. Unlike the other arrogant newbies like Dawlish and Proudfoot, Kinglsey actually weighed his words before he spoke them out.

The tall dark-skinner Auror shook his head sideward and then summoned a couple of files into the room. On Amelia's head nod, he explained. "Forensics report, ma'am. I collected as much data as could be collected from the site. The first one," he pointed to the single corpse, separated from the rest, "—is Barty Crouch Junior. Though that does not explain why a dead man rose back to life suddenly only to turn back into another mutilated dead body."

Amelia winced. Kingsley's blunt sarcasm was often quite pointy and hit the right buttons. The Auror continued, "Official records state that the man is supposed to be dead. Why in fact, Junior here has a grave to his name in the backland of Crouch mansion. Barty Crouch Senior did make a big deal of burying his dead death-eater son, though I am not sure how a dead man turned alive all of a sudden."

Amelia did not need any further convincing. Turning to Dawlish, Proudfoot and Barnes, she ordered. "Arrest Crouch Sr. and place him in a DMLE cell. I will continue the interrogation myself. Dismissed." The three Aurors nodded and left the room. Turning to Kinglsey, "I hope you have some more information with you. Regarding the corpses and the killer?"

Kingsley nodded. Shifting the first two files off, he took the third file and handed it to Amelia, who opened it and sighed.

"Avery Senior, Derrick Greengrass, Benjamin Mulciber, Thorfin Rowle, Crabbe Senior, Charles Wilkins, Timothy Yaxley, Wilfred Yaxley, Dennis Travers and Arnold Jugson. All of them accused of being Death-eaters but got off due to either lack of evidence or the Imperius defense. It is ironic that they should be found dead wearing death eater regalia."

Amelia almost smirked in thought. "How were they..." she thought that butchered might be the correct description but withheld her choice of words.

"Impaled by metallic spikes. Iron by what the forensics believe. The way there bodies are mutilated reminds me of that muggle movie thing that I once saw- getting sandwiched between two walls layered with iron spikes." Amelia winced at the description Kinglsey gave, and shuddered. "The way of killing, it is something unknown to our case files. Even death eaters did not kill so brutally."

"So we have a killer on loose who has a vexation with death eaters." Amelia surmised.

"And it is not from some light sided family." Kinglsey added. Amelia turned to him to continue. "The methods of killing- Light families would never do it. In fact, even neutrals and dark families would rather use something more natural like the killing curse or some severing curse."

"So our killer has a vendetta against death eaters and clearly uses unconventional means of killing off his victims. I assume the iron spikes were transfigured and vanished later?"

"I might have something to add to your investigation, Madam Bones!" a rich, deep voice resounded from the doorway. Amelia whirled around, realizing the familiar voice. "Sebastian, it's a surprise to see you."

Sebastian Delacour walked forward and nodded at the rest of the group. "I have some... evidence that might point things in a different light." Amelia raised an eyebrow. Kinglsey commented from beside her, "Our Aurors found Miss Delacour on the site where the killings were done. Mr. Delacour took in charge of her, and hence we have been unable to get any statements from her yet." He continued coldly.

"You might be interested to know that being the Head of the French DMLE, I enjoy diplomatic immunity in magical Britain, something that extends to my immediate family as well, Auror-?"

"Shacklebolt."

Sebastian nodded. Kingsley stayed blank.

"Let's move on to your evidence." Amelia urged, dismissing the sudden silence. "I assume it is some statement from your daughter."

"Better yet, a pensieve memory of the incident; on condition that the memory will be not be used for official purposes."

"It is almost as if you are trying to help the killer, Mr. Delacour. First you interrupt a formal investigation, and now you are not sharing circumstantial evidence." Kinglsey mocked coldly.

"I assure you, Auror Shacklebolt, the only reason I am even deigning to share the memory is because of the butchering that happened. If not for that, I would not even think of contributing anything that might cost my girl's savior." Sebastian answered coldly, "—particularly in a location where the esteemed British Ministry proclaimed that it had taken appropriate security measures."

Amelia winced at the harsh remark about the failure of her department. It was not entirely her own fault though, since Cornelius had for some strange reason, insisted on putting a large contingent of the Auror force for security in Diagon Alley. It wasn't hard for her to deduce that the suggestion had come from the whisperings that Lucius Malfoy muttered in his ear. For a moment, she felt a bit disappointed that Malfoy's mutilated body was not included in the group in front of her.

"I can assure you that your daughter's memory will only be viewed by me and Shacklebolt here, after which you can take the memory back with you." Sebastian nodded in acceptance, and removed a tiny vial from his robes. Amelia took it and commented. "Kingsley, come with me to my office. The rest of the discussion is disbanded." She addressed the remaining ones, who nodded and left.


Back into her office, Amelia summoned her own official pensieve, and looked up. "I assume you will enter with us." Sebastian nodded, and followed her and Kinglsey into the pensieve.

"Whoever this was, was really fast and packed a punch with his spells." Kingsley observed, "The first golden wave that he fired, assuming that it is a man,-" he paused, "I don't think I could even fire up such a widespread spell and blast so many people by such a radius. Two to three people is one thing, but ten?"

Amelia nodded, agreeing with his assessment. "It is a man," Sebastian interrupted, "you will see for yourself later." The three were viewing from Fleur's perspective and that being such, most of the time the unknown person was looking away from them. "His spells," Amelia suggested, "I have never seen such spells being used, especially the one he used in the end; the black one which formed the iron shackles around the death eaters."

"Neither have I," Sebastian confessed, "I even searched my family library for something similar, but found nothing. It is almost as if this person created the spell from scratch."

Amelia raised her eyebrows at the comment. It was quite well known but the Delacour family were a neutral family and had their roots in archaic magicks. If Sebastian had not found anything remotely similar to the spell they witnessed, the case had just become much more complicated.

"Are you sure about that, Sebastian?"

Sebastian nodded. The memory continued. They saw the assailant wave his wand as iron spikes shot out of the shackles, impaling the bound prisoners, killing them immediately. They heard him say his name aloud.

Peverell.

An odd name. One that rose eyebrows. It reminded Amelia of the Ancient family of Peverell, who were renowned necromancers and were linked with the story of 'A tale of three brothers'. Her eyes darted to Sebastian and she knew that he was also thinking something similar.

"Do you think the name has any meaning in this case?" Kingsley asked.

"It does. The Peverells were one of the most notoriously dark families in Magical Europe. In fact, the fact that this man calls himself Peverell complicates the matter.

"If that spell could have been found anywhere, it would be in the Peverell grimoire." Sebastian commented. Amelia looked sharply at him. "The Peverell grimoire is one of the most sought after things in Magical Europe, but unfortunately no one ever has been able to circumvent the blood magic protections that protect the Peverell vault in Gringotts." As was Gringotts' policy, only someone of the Peverell blood could claim the vault. Even today, the old families tried to claim the Vault, but without success. Amelia wondered if the goblins could tell her anything regarding the situation.

"If the assailant calls himself Peverell, there may be something worth an interrogation at Gringotts." Kingsley commented. "If there is nothing else..."

Amelia nodded and the Auror left. Sebastian suddenly spoke. "There is one more thing. My daughter described his magic as overwhelming. My daughter, as you well know, is a Veela and Veela are natural at sensing magical auras. His accent was British, but I do not know anyone of British accent having such prodigal powers. I even discretely made inquiries with the ICW and Mage Association, and no one told me anything. It is as if, this guy appeared out of nowhere."

"People do not pop out of nowhere just like that Sebastian. Especially someone like that. My gut says that this is only the beginning."

"I hope you will not bring myself or my daughter into this mess. I have more than enough on my plate as it is."

"Of course not, Sebastian. Thank you for your help." The French DMLE Head bowed and left, leaving Amelia to ponder in silence.

"Who are you...Peverell?"


Harry woke up the next morning, and found himself in Ron's room. It was exactly as he remembered in his memories. Chuddley-Cannons posters everywhere, splashes of red and gold with the occasional graying in the walls here and there- just as he remembered. Ron had already woken up and had gone downstairs. Getting up, he hurried to the bathroom and soon enough, he was ready to go downstairs for his breakfast.

"Ah, Harry! Thought I would meet you over here!"

Harry rolled his eyes. Albus Dumbledore was sitting on a transfigured plush chair in the Weasley drawing room, sipping a cup of coffee with the rest of the Weasley household. It was obvious that Dumbledore would rush to meet him as soon as the news reached him.

FLASHBACK

It had only been two days since Sirius had left when suddenly, there was a flash of fire and Dumbledore's pet phoenix Fawkes had appeared out of nowhere, perching on Harry's shoulder while he lounged in the balcony. The phoenix trilled and extended his limb, showing the piece of parchment tied to it.

"Ah! The Headmaster sent you to find me, is it?"

Fawkes trilled again happily.

"I will take that as a Yes." Harry waved his hand to check for portkeys or other spells, but finding none, he opened the letter and read it.

It was from Dumbledore, and he was quite irritated. Turning to Fawkes, Harry spoke out, "Your companion is quite messed up, Fawkes. I told him not to send me to the Dursleys, but he did not listen. Would you mind taking back a reply?"

Fawkes trilled in agreement.

"Fine then!" He conjured a piece of parchment and wrote down his reply.

I am staying at my Family Manor. Will see you next term. I am not really one to say 'I told you so' but...

I told you so.

-Harry Potter.

END OF FLASHBACK

Harry smirked as he climbed down the rickety old stairs, which creaked as he climbed down. "Good Morning to you too, Headmaster!" Ignoring other's surprised looks; he walked up and sat on a nearby chair that was still available.

"I believe you and I have some discussion to do, Harry. Perhaps we should take it up outside? I have often heard that the fresh morning air does well to our health." Dumbledore patronized. Harry rolled his eyes and followed him as he left the room, ignoring the stares that he was getting from the others.

Standing outside near the shed, Harry turned towards the old man. "I sent you my letter. That should explain everything." Dumbledore looked curiously at his student, who had shown him surprisingly coldness.

"I'm surprised at your animosity, Harry; when I vividly remember how soft-spoken you were even during our last meet." Harry raised his eyebrows, and answered. "Let's just say that the soft-spoken boy found out that some venerable old man has been keeping his heritage away from him. Not only that, he also found out that the same old man was responsible for binding his magical core when he was a child, hindering his ability to perform magic. Considering how my life has been in danger consecutively in the last three years, I am sure you will understand if I am not very interested or well-spoken at the moment."

Dumbledore winced. Since the first year, he had had this issue troubling him, and now it had risen to the surface in a very ugly manner. "I am sorry my boy. When you resurfaced back to the wizarding world, you were able to cast magic quite easily. I simply assumed that the magical binds had ripped off with time. Though now that I know that it didn't, I am unable to understand how you were able to perform the acts of magic that you have performed all these years, especially the Patronus of all things."

Harry simply looked away and did not reply.

"Be as that may, I insist that you return to the Dursleys immediately. You will be safe there, and I am sure your family must be concerned about you." Harry began laughing at the last sentence, much to Dumbledore's amazement.

"Concerned, Headmaster? They are happy by all chances; happy that they do not need to harbor the freak for one more summer." He sneered, much to the Headmaster's chagrin.

"I am sure it is not as bad as-" Dumbledore began but Harry bet him to it. "You can be as surer as you want, Headmaster but I'm not going back there. I am happy living at Potter Manor, and I am pretty sure that the wards do a decent job of keeping me safe."

"Harry, the wards also keep your family safe. Do you want harm to befall them?"

"Yes."

Dumbledore stared at him, stumped at his answer. "You would let them be harmed?"

"If you are so concerned about their safety, you are free to put protections over the house. I am not going to suffer just because those filthy muggles can live and make my life hell."

"Harry, it is for your-"

"Meddle your next words very carefully, Headmaster." Harry countered coldly, much to the other man's shock. "I am done with your manipulation and I am finally learning what it means to be a Potter. I took the Headship of Potter and that ends your power of being my magical guardian; fat job you did guarding me. I will see you at Hogwarts, Headmaster." His last words almost a whisper, Harry mentally called for Dobby who popped in, only to bow at him and pop him away.


Albus Dumbledore stood alone in the Weasley yard, trying to understand the changes that had occurred in Harry Potter, and how it was possible to have failed him. After a moment, he let out a sigh and walked back in.

"Where is Harry, professor Dumbledore?" Bill asked, concerned.

"Young Harry just called for his elf and popped away." Dumbledore replied, his white moustache quivering as he tried to figure out what else had changed. "Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley—Ron, has there been any noticeable change in Harry?"

Hermione widened her eyes, understanding what the Headmaster was asking. "Harry is changed, professor. He has become so... different."

Dumbledore turned towards her and urged her to continue. "After the school terms were over, we saw Harry at the Hogsmeade station but after we all boarded the train, Harry just... Vanished."

"We never saw him boarding the train, Hermione!" Ron pointed out.

"Indeed!" Dumbledore intervened, "please continue."

Hermione looked at the others for confirmation and continued, "We didn't see him at all in the train, and we saw him first thing yesterday before we left for the world Cup. He had popped in with his elf."

"Dobby!" Ron added. "Yes that," Hermione added, a small frown on her face at the sudden interruption, "ever since he had returned, he was kind of... different I guess. He was keeping secrets and he avoided answering questions."

"What happened after the match?" Dumbledore asked. "During the attacks I mean." He clarified.

"He was here with us, professor." Ron answered, and the twins too nodded.

"The whole time?"

Hermione thought for a moment. "Yes, professor. The whole time. I mean, he was away for a couple of minutes but he said that was because the running crowd swayed him. After that, he was there with us till the end." Dumbledore thought something, and then nodded. "Thank you everyone, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, have a good day." Saying so, the Headmaster of Hogwarts apparated away.


Department of Mysteries.

"What do you mean that another chronomantic event took place during the Quidditch world Cup?"

"Precisely that, Director. A small event, we think around one hour duration as suggested by our observations." Unspeakable Dominique answered briskly.

"One hour back in time. Was Harry Potter there?"

"Yes, sir. We believe he was there, but he was with the Weasleys as per as our reports."

This has gone way beyond what is acceptable. Something odd is happening and it is centered on Harry Potter.

"Tell me his residence." Croaker ordered.

"His official residence is at Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Winging, in Surrey."

That was enough her him apparently, for with a near silent pop, Croaker disapparated.


Apparating in front of the Dursley residence, Croaker observed the surroundings. Waving his wand in complicated patterns, he whispered something obscure. A flash of blue shot out like a wave out of his wand towards the Dursley residence and a crimson blur manifested in the shape of a huge dome, encompassing the Dursley residence entirely, ending only a few feet in front of him.

"Blood wards. That's... interesting."

He waved his wand again and whispered something, and the dome glowed with a silvery sheen for a moment. "Intent-based. Who built these?"

Only one name rose in his mind. Albus Dumbledore.

"The esteemed Leader of the light, engaging in Blood magic... Now wouldn't that be a surprise!" Croaker grinned. "Let's test them, shall we?"

He strode forward, emptying his mind and focusing on just one thought.

I need to meet Harry Potter for his own safety.

I need to meet Harry Potter for his own safety.

I need to meet Harry Potter for his own safety.

He entered one foot into the barrier. Nothing happened. The next. Still nothing happened. Croaker smirked. Intent-based wards they might be, but they lack power. Any fifth-level Occlumens could figure his way around them, and Croaker himself was a seventh level adept. The wards were cast either imperfectly, or...

The emotion that fuels them is missing.

He strode forward, and knocked on the door. After ten seconds, a horse-faced woman opened the door. "Yes?"

Croaker smirked inwardly. "I am from the Wizarding Ministry, and I need to talk to Harry Potter."

The woman's entire demeanor changed. "You are one of those freaks?" Croaker's smirk vanished instantly. What kind of people were they? For a moment, he wondered if Harry Potter had been mistreated all his life. He focused his Legilimency on the woman and watched in shock as his suspicions came true. Harry Potter, the Boy-who-lived, was tortured and treated like a slave by these despicable muggles.

"Where is Harry Potter?" He asked sternly.

"He did not return this year. Why, is he in some mess? That freak is nothing but trouble." She put in condescendingly. Croaker felt his magic tingle, his fingers itching to show this despicable muggle her true place.

"No, he is not. Thank you very much." He turned back, only to stop and turn around again.

"Mrs. Dursley?"

The woman stopped, and turned around to face the sharp end of the stick... the wand in the stranger's hand.

"Praedae fortuna! Obliviate!"

With a devilish smirk, he turned back and crossed the ward-line. Satisfied that he was out of the ward-line, he apparated away.


Harry finished carving runes on the slab in front of him. It was a hobby he had developed in his later years as a dark lord- creating runic combinations for day-to-day use. What he was presently working on a shield charm, or rather what he liked to call - a heavy-duty shield bunker; deadly useful against explosions. He was presently working on a runic matrix that would serve as a shield for Fleur and himself. During his later life, Harry had given up casting shield spells and instead begun to rely on runic combinations to do the job. They were time-consuming, but once ready; they were quite an advantage on the battlefield. Nothing more frightening than a powerful enemy that does not need to shield himself from the incoming barrage.

I need to find a way to access the Cup—without the added baggage of goblins, dragons and betrayers. Perhaps this dagger-

He held the dagger in his hands. Crafted and forged by goblins, the dagger bore the insignia of House Slytherin. He did not have access to the sword this time, and wondered if he could arrange some kind of barter with the goblins someway.

No, that would be too... Hufflepuff of me. I need to get the Cup without handing over anything else. Perhaps...

A daring idea rose in his mind. An idea, which any other sane person would have completely discarded. However, the dark lord Harry Potter wasn't really the textbook definition of being sane anyway.

I need to finish this project as soon as possible.


September 1, 1994.

Harry strode up to the Platform 9 and three quarters, and passed nonchalantly through the barrier, entering into the wizardspace inside it. The blatant display of illusion magic at the gateway still amazed him. What was more amazing was the highly efficient way in which the entire wizardspace was confined inside one single pillar. A masterful demonstration of ancient magick in front of every budding witch and wizard, and yet all they developed into were simple wand weavers who knew nothing of ancient magicks. In his previous life, Harry had spent years researching on ancient magick- raiding old family libraries, studying and researching from ancient tomes to understand the utter versatility of magick. Despite all that, he still felt that he was still having some water in a small bucket while the great sea of magic lay undiscovered and unclaimed before him.

Finding himself a solitary compartment, he took it for himself. His trunk already miniaturized to the size of a matchbox, he put it inside the moleskin pouch he wore around his neck. Handy thing... magic. There was no point putting the trunk up on the racks, only to take it off and then carry it to the carriages. This was much better. Lounging on the rather plush seat, magically extended and transfigured, he opened a book on obscure wards and began to read.

Exactly fifteen minutes and forty-seven seconds later, the door opened with a small creaking sound, and Ron Weasley barged in. Shifting the book to his chest, Harry looked amusedly at the way Weasley acted. It was just like Ron to completely ignore any kind of social niceties and be as blunt as could be wizardly possible. He idly wondered what Weasley would think if he would tell him, what he intended to do this year.

"Harry, mate! Found you at last. Where were you?"

Hermione palmed her face with irritation at Ron's tried and tested way of putting his foot in his mouth. "He was already here inside the compartment, Ron."

"Oh yeah, but I dint know that, did I?"

Harry smirked, but did not reply. Hermione's glance shifted from Ron to Harry to the book in his hand. "What are you reading?" She walked over and snatched it from his hand, ignoring the scowl that flitted through his face. She opened the book, only to find it written in some obscure scribbles. "What is this language? I can't understand it."

"Obviously." Harry almost drawled. "That book is part of my family legacy. It contains magic that is solely and completely the property of the Potter family. It is obvious that since you are not a Potter by blood, you cannot comprehend the language."

It was not true. In reality, he was reading a book taken from the Chamber and coded in Parseltongue. Only a speaker could read and comprehend it. An obvious deception but Hermione didn't need to know it.

"But that's unfair. Everyone should be allowed to learn everything. Pureblood families should not be allowed to horde magical spells away. It's barbaric."

Of course, and then let them take the wizarding world to hell.

"The old families' horde magic for a reason, Hermione." Harry ignored the look of envy and fury that flitted across Ron's face for a moment and continued, "Being an old family doesn't always mean money and wealth. There is a bigger responsibility on our shoulders... Responsibilities, which some, have chosen to forget."

"Oh darn it Harry, stop behaving like damned Malfoy, will you?" Ron almost snarled.

"Ronald Weasley, just because your family was stripped off from its wealth and stature doesn't make the entire family magic framework wrong."

"Stop it Harry, you are just behaving like Malfoy now."

"Am I? Tell me Ron. Do you actually know how your family was reduced to where it is now? Do you actually know and comprehend your own roots? I would suggest you actually do that, before you go ahead, making claims about me behaving like that Fe... Malfoy."

Ron's cheeks reddened with anger and embarrassment, before he stood up and banged the door open. "I am done with this. Hermione, are you coming?"

Hermione looked conflicted. On one hand, she was quite shocked at Harry's disposition and words. On the other hand, her thirst for knowledge wanted her to stay and ask her friend for the information. Finally, her Gryffindor nature won over her Ravenclaw side, and she stood up. "I am not sure what you mean by it Harry, but I ... I think something is very wrong with you." She turned back, and walked off to find Ron.

"Suit yourself!" he muttered, knowing Hermione would be able to listen to his parting words.


He had just got back to reading where he had left off, when- "You know, you are quite different than what I expected!" Almost instantly, his wand shot out in his palm and he focused it straight on the now-reappearing figure sitting inside his very compartment. It was a man, one wearing hooded gray robes, covered with ash hood. He could not see the face of the man but understood who or what exactly he was dealing with now.

An Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries.

Weighing his chances and comprehending the situation, Harry asked. "Who are you?"

"It is not important." The man spoke in a rather gravelly voice.

"It is not important to you." Harry shot back.

The unspeakable sighed. "I am from the Department of Mysteries, Mr. Potter, and I wish to ask you about the recent happenings."

"What recent happenings?"

"Oh I was going to explain that. You see I was talking about the chronomantic-" Just as the last word escaped out of the Unspeakable's mouth, Harry's seat glowed blue for a second and he felt the magic twist. In a flash, the threads of magic shifted into something else and Harry disappeared; the last word in his mind as he disappeared being...

A portkey...


### Well that was it for the new chapter. sorry for the delay. I was writing a new chapter for Wizarding chronicles and also was engaged in some work. Anyway, hope you like the chapter and of course, please follow, favorite and importantly, review...