A/N: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling and her associates. Please support the official release.

Despite having been sent what could only be considered a Dark Artefact as fan mail, life at Hogwarts proceeded as usual with little to no deviation from the norm. Harry still had to attend classes, Snape still hated his guts and Dumbledore still kept up the act of pretending to be everyone's wise grandfather when, in reality, he was nothing but a meddling arsehole. Life was, in most cases, completely and utterly normal. Except for the part where Harry had a dark secret that he felt compelled to keep from everyone and everything, of course. He did not even know why it mattered so much to him anymore. It was only an ancient tome, after all, it could hardly do that much damage. But something deep inside of him told him that telling people about it would be a very bad idea.

And so, he kept living his life shrouded in a constant state of premonition, with every day feeling like an opportunity for someone to call his bluff, for someone to realize that he was indeed hiding something. Luckily enough for him, people had a tendency of avoiding him whenever they could from before, so even if he was acting rather strangely, most of his classmates would probably just write it off as him being a little more weird than usual.

The only one who would not do such a thing, though, and therefore posed the biggest threat to him and his secret, was his one and only friend, Hermione Granger. Harry was fairly certain that she was onto him at this point. The questioning looks she kept sending him in class, the awkward tension that filled the air whenever they studied together in the library, the steadily rising lack of communication between them; all of these were signs that she had noticed that something was wrong, but was either being too proud or too scared to ask him about it outright.

He was, however, under no illusions that the current situation would remain the same for much longer. Hermione was bound to eventually broach the topic, and he would have to have an answer ready when she did. What that answer would be, however, he did not know.

I guess I could use my Obscurial situation as an excuse for my weird behavior lately, but would she really be that easy to fool?

Hermione was, after all, an incredibly talented and intelligent witch, and would most likely be able to see through such a lie with relative ease, putting him in an even worse position. On top of that, if she found out that he had been lying to her, her trust in him would falter significantly, which could again lead to her telling Dumbledore about the Obscurus theory.

Plus, do I really want to lose my one and only friend?

Regaining her friendship after such an act could prove to be a difficult task indeed, seeing as "elephants never forget" and all that. In addition, as Harry had never had to deal with such issues before, he would most likely have no idea how to "console" or "help" her and end up making things worse.

Godric, I really hate being so "rationally inclined" sometimes.

The rational solution, whilst usually being the one that made the most sense, was not always the best one, especially not when it came to females. He had quickly learned his lesson in this particular area after the time Hermione came to him with some newly purchased clothes in search of his opinion on them. He had, of course, told her what he thought, but completely forgotten that he wasn't supposed to be 100 percent honest, and therefore proceeded to calling them rather bland and unattractive. Not realizing his mistake, he had thought everything to be okay before Hermione had suddenly started crying and slapped him with her handbag. That had served as his wake-up call when it came to females and telling them the blatant truth about certain things.

The Great Hall

Letting out a heartfelt yawn, Harry stretched his arms over his head as he absentmindedly stared out over the vast selection of foods currently available on the table in front of him. It was dinnertime, and as such, the Great Hall was filled with hundreds of students, their voices overlapping with each other in tandem. Despite its chaotic nature, Harry had always found the overbearing sound to be strangely comforting, a sign of life and bustle in the otherwise empty stone castle. Some might call this particular thought hypocritical, with him being the antisocial shut-in that he was, but he didn't mind. The sound of student life was nice to listen to. Participating in it, on the other hand, was not nearly as nice.

"Harry, you're doing it again," Hermione noted as she passed him the butter he had asked for just moments earlier and then subsequently forgotten about.

"Uhm… Sorry, what was that?" Harry replied as he was shaken out of his daydream.

"That thing where you completely zone out in a conversation, despite being the one to initiate it in the first place."

"Oh, that thing," he remarked as he spread butter out across the piece of toast on his plate. "I do that a lot, don't I?"

"Yes, you do, but you've started doing it a lot more than usual lately. Harry, I know something's up, you don't have to pretend."

Dammit. There it is.

He purposefully lifted his eyes to meet hers in a defying stare, his mouth taking the form of a strict line.

"There's just no fooling you, is there?"

"No, there is not, especially when it comes to my best friend," she fired back, fixing him with a stare of her own. It was filled with unshakable determination, and for a brief moment, Harry felt a genuine sting of pride tug at his heartstrings.

"Then you also know that the chances of me actually telling you what is going on are incredibly low, right?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I'm okay with it!"

"I don't care if you're okay with it; I'm doing it for your own safety."

A small chuckle escaped her lips.

"For my own safety? Please, Harry, cut me some slack. I know you better than that. You never do anything for anyone other than yourself."

A harsh statement, one that most might have been offended by, but Harry simply smiled.

"You know me too well, my young Padawan."

"I'm not your "Padawan", Harry. I'm your friend," she replied, the frustration clear in her voice. Harry knew that she hated it when he kept secrets from her. But this particular secret was just too much for her to handle. Hell, she had barely been able to keep it together when he told her about his Obscurus theory, what in the world would happen if he told her about the potentially incredibly dangerous Evil Artefact he kept hidden in a secret compartment underneath his bed in Ravenclaw Tower?

Letting out a small sigh, he yet again returned his attention to the piece of toast in front of him.

"Listen Hermione, I know you are a very curious person by nature, and I hate keeping you in the dark about things I know you'd very much like to hear, but in this case, I really have no choice. This is simply too… well, intense… for anyone else to know."

He could easily tell that his answer had not served to make her any less interested, but she must've realized that she wasn't going to get anything out of him like this, because she let up with the intense staring and directed her focus back to the food on the table instead.

"Dammit Harry, why do you always have to make things so complicated?" she muttered weakly as she poked at her scrambled eggs with a fork.

"I'm sorry, it's just in my nature," he replied matter-of-factly, inwardly letting out a relieved sigh at his apparent success. He had managed to buy himself some more time, for now at least. Hermione would undoubtedly decide to force the information out of him at some point, but he would deal with that issue when it came up.

Procrastination and improvisation has treated me well lately. I wish things could continue that way forever.

His luck was bound to run out at some point, though.

Screw it; I'll deal with that later too.

Azkaban, North Sea

In a remote location, invisible from any map or targeting charm, Muggle or Magical, the fortress of Azkaban stood like an imposing colossus watching out over the endless sea. The wind whipping away at its smooth, grey rock, the water crashing against its shores, the castle-like structure cut an impressive figure as it withstood the harsh elements Mother Nature threw at it.

The island of Azkaban had not always served as a prison for disobedient and evil wizards. A particularly nasty Dark Lord had first inhabited it back in the 15th century, going by the name of Ekrizdis. He had decided that the location would be the perfect hideout for him to conduct experiments related to Dark Magic, and had used a plethora of ways to lure Muggle sailors out to his fortress, for use in ritualistic sacrifices or as Potion ingredients in his attempts to create an artificial Elixir of Life. Needless to say, he had not lived for long, as one rarely did when dabbling with such unknown powers. After his demise, the various concealment charms placed on the island had faded, and the Ministry of Magic became aware of its existence.

Upon exploring the now abandoned fortress, the Ministry officials discovered a multitude of horrors seemingly linked to the very foundations of the structure itself, including what looked like an infestation of Dementors. Said Dementors had no doubt been lured there by the suffering of the captured sailors, and decided to make the island their "home", for lack of a better word.

The island was left surprisingly undisturbed after this initial voyage, mostly because no wizard alive dared travel to such a horrid place, but when the International Statue of Secrecy was established, the Ministry started looking at the haunted location as a possible investment venue. When Damocles Rowle took office as Minister for Magic in 1718, he proposed a plan to utilize the island of Azkaban as a potential prison for wizard inmates, advising to use the already "docile" Dementors as prison guards. Despite the highly questionable ethical nature of the proposal, the plan was met with great reception, and after a couple of years, Azkaban was officially open for business. And ever since, the place had remained the de-facto prison for the British Wizarding World and its criminals.

And it was within these god-forsaken walls that a lone prisoner going by the name of Sirius Black awoke from his restless slumber. Groaning in despair, he ever so slowly pushed himself up into an upright sitting position, using his legs as cushions.

For a fleeting moment, he had imagined himself to be elsewhere, back in the wonderful embrace of Lily Potter's arms.

It was no secret that Sirius harbored a deep interest for Lily. He had loved her ever since he first laid eyes on her, he reckoned, but had quickly realized that her heart belonged to a different man. That man was James. James Potter. His best friend.

That name brought back painful memories, and despite his unwillingness to remember, he couldn't help himself as he drifted off into nostalgic thoughts about the past. The moment did not last, though. It never did in here, in this hollow place. The Dementors could smell happiness from a mile away, and Sirius knew they would be all over him in a manner of minutes. He had dared dream of better times. His jailors did not like it when he did that.

Just as he had suspected, he felt the first of them approach his cell just seconds later. The very presence of the creature seemed to drive away all trace of joy, and he could feel his heart grow heavy at the thought of what was to come. The Dementor would Kiss him, and leave him laying there in a pathetic heap once his memories had been sucked dry of their happiness. The wicked thing fed on it, after all.

The rain outside picked up in intensity, large drops of water splashing in through the bars that separated his cell from the ocean. The floor, however, was already wet enough as is. A few more would hardly make much of a difference.

And it was in that moment, whilst Sirius was preparing himself for the cold embrace of the Dementor, with the rain crashing against the stone walls, that it happened.

He almost didn't notice it at first. He heard the sound of it hitting the floor, of course, but his mind was too far gone to recognize the faint tinge of magic that came with it. It was only when he looked away from the entrance to his room in fear of what was to come that he noticed it laying there on the ground next to him.

It was a wand. An actual wand. Somehow, it had miraculously made its way into his cell. Into his reach.

He hadn't seen one in ages, and had almost convinced himself they were just a figment of his imagination, another hopeless idea for his mind to get fixated on. After all, there was no way to defend yourself against the constant onslaught of a Dementor that was hell-bent on ravaging your soul. Or was there? Sirius couldn't remember. It had been too long since he had thought of spells and magic in general.

Then, suddenly, it came to him. That tiny spark of happiness that he had not felt since his first days in this wicked prison. That small flicker of light that kept the darkness in his head at bay. That thing he thought the Dementors had taken from him. Hope. Genuine, heart-warming hope.

His eyes wide open; he slowly bent over to pick up the almost alien little thing. It truly was an honest-to-God wand. An instrument fit for a wizard, right there in the palm of his hand.

And just like that, an idea started forming in his head. A tiny plan, so minuscule it was almost indistinguishable from the already distorted mess his thoughts were. But it was there.

The Dementor was getting close now, he could feel its distorted presence just outside his cell. What was that spell again, the one they taught you so you could protect yourself from them? He vaguely remembered casting it involved happy memories, but could not for the life of him recall the incantation.

A doe.

A beautiful, corporeal doe.

Lily's Patronus.

It was a doe.

In his mind, he could see Lily and James smiling back at him as he summoned his first successful Patronus, a distant memory of their school days together at Hogwarts.

Pointing his wand at the Dementor that had now floated into his cell with unnatural fluidity, he uttered those words he thought he would never say again:

"Expecto Patronum!"

The bright light that erupted from his wand momentarily blinded him, as his eyes were not used to such beautiful things. He heard the Dementor scream in pain and retreat out of the room, a surefire sign that his plan had worked. The memory he had used had been too pure for the creature to touch.

Getting up on wobbly legs, he pocketed the wand and carefully approached the now open cell door leading out into the hallway. He knew he only had a couple of minutes before the hurt Dementor would report his actions to the guards, and at that point, he would be swarmed, and his plans ruined.

I will get out of here, he thought to himself as he took off down the dark corridor, his legs nearly faltering under the weight due to their lack of exercise these past years. To Sirius's great surprise, however, there didn't seem to be all that many guards on duty. He had always suspected that Azkaban was being run by a skeleton crew, but this exceeded his expectations.

Weaving his way through seemingly empty hallways and down short staircases, the hope that lingered in his heart grew with every step.

I will get out of here. I have to get out of here.

And that was when he spotted it. His first real obstacle. Another Dementor was floating down the corridor, coming straight towards him.

Bringing out his wand with surprising speed, he fired off another Expecto Patronum, this one a little weaker than the last, but still powerful enough to drive away the wicked thing. Continuing past it and its wailing cries, he sprinted down the hallway towards the door all the way at the end.

Bursting through it, he took a quick look around to evaluate his new surroundings. He was in what appeared to be a storage room, with rows upon rows of old filing cabinets filling his vision. Sweeping over it all, his gaze quickly locked on to a wall at the far end of the room that had a small window attached to it.

Taking great care to close the door behind him, he slowly approached the wall and its window, standing on his toes so he could get a better look out of it. What he saw was the ocean, stretching out in all directions as far as his eyes could see.

My way out. Freedom.

Taking a few steps back, Sirius aimed his wand at the seemingly innocent wall, forcing himself to remain calm despite the fact that his little jailbreak attempt could be discovered any second. He had to get out of here as fast as possible, before the guards had a chance of converging on his location.

Shouting out the incantation, Sirius summoned forth the strongest Bombarda Exploding Charm he had ever cast, the red orb of energy flying directly at the wall, causing it to explode outwards. Small bits of rock and rubble grazed his face as he looked away in a desperate attempt at shielding his eyes from the blinding light.

The explosion was, of course, accompanied by a loud bang that resounded throughout Azkaban, no doubt drawing the attention of every guard and Dementor in the nearby vicinity.

But despite all of that, it had worked. Where there had previously been a wall, there was now a huge, gaping hole that lead straight out to freedom.

"Drop that wand right now, prisoner!" a voice suddenly said, causing Sirius's heart to jump in his chest. Turning around, he spotted one of the guards standing in the doorway, his eyes cold and calculating as he stared him down. A cold sweat erupted across Sirius's back as he ever so slowly backed up towards the newly made hole in the wall.

"I'm sorry buddy, but I can't do that. I'm getting out of here, you see," he responded, a small grin creeping its way onto his face. It felt good to smile again.

"You are doing no such thing, Sirius," the guard shouted back, choosing to use his name instead of "prisoner" to make their standoff a little more personal.

"Oh, but I am. Can't you see this hole I just made? That's my way out."

Looking past him, Sirius could swear he saw a hint of fear in the guard's eyes as he spotted the gaping hole that lead out to sea.

"Listen, Sirius," the guard started as he took a small step towards him with his wand outstretched. "You're surrounded, okay? The rest of the guards are heading this way as we speak, and soon enough, we will have you locked down so tight you won't even be able to move. Now, you might have made a hole in our wall, but there's a 50-foot drop separating you and that ocean. There's no way you'll make it out alive that way. But if you surrender yourself to us now, me and the boys will go easy on you, okay?"

Listening to the guard talk, a small idea started forming in Sirius's head, an idea so crazy, so bizarre, that it might just work.

"Ahh, you think that. But I am a Marauder, you see. Getting out of tricky situations is our specialty."

With those final words, Sirius pointed his wand directly at the ground in front of him, and before he had a chance to regret his decision, let out an even stronger Explosion Charm, pushing every little bit of his will and magic into it. The force of the blast was overwhelming, and literally sent him flying out of the hole at what felt like mach 2 speed, out into the open air.

He immediately knew he had just broken both of his legs, and quite possibly ripped a few tendons as well, but he had never felt better. Flying through the air towards the endless sea, he felt free as a bird. Even if he ended up dying now, he would not care, as his mind was, for the first time in ages, truly at peace.

A couple of seconds later, Sirius felt himself fly through the Anti-Apparition wards, and saw the water below closing in as the force that had been pushing him up until now let up, and the wind caught up with him. But that didn't matter now. He was through. The wards couldn't stop him anymore.

Closing his eyes, he let out a small chuckle of happiness as he apparated away. Sirius Black was, after spending years imprisoned in Azkaban, a free man once more.

Slytherin Common Room

"Unacceptable!" the now furious Third Year student Draco Malfoy shouted out into the Slytherin Common Room as he paced in circles in front of his two sworn bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle. "I won't have it! I won't accept it!"

Said bodyguards sent each other questioning looks as they sat in silence and listened to their Master complain, neither of them quite sure what it was Draco found so "unacceptable". They usually didn't bother themselves with the details and specifics, preferring to work with broader strokes and easier-to-understand concepts such as "go here" and "do that".

"Father said he would deal with Potter, put him in his place, but it has been days! Weeks, even! And nothing has happened! Potter still meanders about like the cocky little brat that he is, and Father is doing nothing!"

Lashing out, Draco violently kicked the leather chair next to him in a show of childish petulance.

"He. Said. He. Would. Punish. Him!" he annunciated in-between kicks, making Crabbe and Goyle squirm in their seats. They didn't like it when Draco was mad. He was hard to deal with in that state. Unpredictable, and sometimes downright evil.

Then, all of a sudden, the young Malfoy seemed to tense up, before letting out one long, continuous sigh.

"Fine. FINE. If Father can't fix this, I guess I'm going to have to do it myself."

Turning around with borderline superhuman speed, he pointed an accusing finger at his two frightened bodyguards.

"You two!" he shouted, making them jump to their feet in surprise.

"Y-Yes, Draco!" they responded in unison, unknowingly straightening their backs and pushing their chins upward.

"We have a job to do!" he continued as he started heading for the door leading out of the Common Room.

"Sure, boss! What kind of job?"

"We are going to punish Harry Potter for ever daring to bring shame upon the Malfoy name!"

Ravenclaw Tower

In a completely different part of the castle, the young witch Hermione Granger was dealing with her own issues.

Why does Harry always have to be such an idiot?! She thought to herself as she buried her head deep in her pillow, letting out a muffled scream of frustration. He always makes things so goddamn complicated!

It had been a couple of hours since their conversation in the Great Hall, but Hermione still hadn't managed to shake the feeling that something very eerie and possibly very dangerous was going on behind her back. And Harry knew she hated it when he kept secrets from her.

We are supposed to be friends, for Godric's sake, and friends trust each other! They tell each other secrets and share their feelings! So how does he expect our friendship to work when he acts like this all the time?!

She could feel the tears threatening to burst out any second now, and inwardly cursed herself for always being so weak when it came to these things. Why did she always end up as the one crying? Why couldn't Harry cry, at least once? He was always so rational about everything, so cold and manipulative… She didn't even know why she bothered putting up with him anymore.

But, the problem was...

She cared about him. She treasured their friendship, and didn't want it to end. Why? Why was he so important to her?

Because he's the only one who's ever been able to outdo you in something.

Hermione already knew the answer, of course. She had known it all along, ever since she first met him during their First Year. Harry was the only one who could rival her. The only one who could challenge her. That's why they worked so well together. They could always push each other further, always pressure one another to do better. They were like two diamonds in the rough, polishing each other's edges due to the constant competition that existed between them. Which was also why she felt so… connected… to him. Their brains operated on the same wavelength, in some wicked sense of harmony.

Suddenly, a wellspring of determination surged through her. She wasn't going to back down now. Oh no. If Harry thought she was done with him, he was in for one nasty surprise. Hermione would get to the bottom of this. She would figure out what he was hiding, and use that information to "blackmail" him into telling her more.

Lifting her head from her pillow, she wiped away the tears with one hand and got back up on her feet. She would have to put in some fieldwork if she was planning to outsmart Harry. As much as she hated to admit it, he was one clever little arse. But this time, she was going to make sure she came out on top.

For Harry. For our friendship, she smiled as she left the bedroom with this newfound sense of purpose radiating through her.

At the same time, in the opposite end of Ravenclaw Tower, Harry carefully approached his bed with his wand outstretched. Today was the day. He was going to open the book and take a peek at whatever was inside. Despite every fiber of his being screaming out in protest, his heart was set on this particular course of action. His curiosity had gnawed away at him for days now, and he was tired of not knowing what it was he was dealing with.

He knew that the book was obviously some sort of Dark Artefact. The sheer amount of power radiating from it made that much painstakingly clear. But what he didn't know, was what type of knowledge it contained. Could it be vivid descriptions of the use of The Unforgivables? He certainly hoped not. That would be boring. Harry already knew how to cast all of those, even if he had never attempted or been inclined to use any of them before. For instance, all that was required to cast The Killing Curse was willpower and killing intent. Simple as that.

Those spells really are overrated, he couldn't help but think as he got ever closer to the hidden compartment he had placed the book in. You would think Dark Lords would be a little more inventive than that. Even the Cruciatus Curse is incredibly straightforward and predictable...

But that was an annoyance for another day. Right now, he needed to stay focused on the task at hand. He only had the simplest idea of what this thing really was, after all, and for all he knew, the darn thing might just rot his hands off or something the second he opened it.

It took some time, but after what felt like years, he finally had the book placed out in front of him on the wooden floor. Its simplistic design really only added to its creepiness, and the voices that accompanied it were steadily beginning to rise in the back of his mind. This book was evil, through and through, and Harry could not wait to see what was inside.

With a shaky hand, he placed his fingers on the edge of the leather wrapping and slowly flipped the cover page over.

TO THE TORMENTED SOULS OF THOSE UNWILLING TO ABIDE BY OTHERS RULES

The words, written in crooked letters, were the only thing adorning the first real page of the book, but they already had him intrigued. He could easily imagine that he was the first person to read that sentence in a very long time, and the thought of that made him feel strangely giddy on the inside.

Such cryptic language…

The voices in his mind had grown eerily silent now, too, as if patiently waiting for him to flip to the next page. So that was exactly what he did.

The next page was written entirely in a language he did not understand, but instantly recognized to be Latin. Seeing as the words made no sense to him, and the fact that he couldn't really be bothered to bring up a dictionary and translate them, he decided to simply skip the page and move on to the next one.

Flipping over, he was instantly greeted by a simple yet grotesque painting of a man vomiting blood into a cauldron, a knife sticking out of his chest. Upon closer inspection, the blood coming out of his mouth appeared to have a slight purple hue to it, as if infused with some type of unknown magic. Next to the painting, there was yet another row of Latin words, obviously describing whatever it was the man was doing in closer detail.

It's… These are… rituals.

As Harry continued to flip through the pages, he was met with a plethora of different paintings, all displaying the same man engaging in what could only described as a multitude of varying rituals. One showed the man cutting open a human sacrifice, the unwilling participant chained to the ceiling by his feet and screaming in pain. Another one showed him cutting off his own hand, dropping it into a cauldron with an unnerving smile on his face.

Reading through it, Harry couldn't help but feel a twinge of nausea bubbling up in his stomach, which was very uncharacteristic for him, seeing as he usually did not react particularly violently to human suffering or what others would define as "gruesome" sights. But there was just something about the paintings, simplistic and almost childlike at times, that made him feel extremely uncomfortable.

I wonder what you gain from performing any of these rituals successfully…? He wondered absentmindedly as he closed the book with a satisfying thud, returning it to the hidden compartment underneath his bed. No doubt I'd have to translate the text accompanying the paintings if I want to get a clearer picture.

Sitting in silence now, he closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh. Researching the old tome had taken a little more of his energy than he had originally anticipated, and for some reason, he felt completely famished. This usually didn't happen to him, who could spend hours pouring over his school books together with Hermione, so for it to happen after mere minutes of reading… It was nonsensical.

Could it be a side effect of the book itself, perhaps? It drains your energy without your consent, using it to feed its infernal power?

Despite having gained only a fragment of the information he desired, Harry was determined to continue his research of the book. He had never heard of such a tome before, after all, and had never seen anything even close to it in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library. It was a complete mystery, and Harry loved mysteries.

Oh well, that's enough dabbling in the Dark Arts for one day… If Dumbledore ever found out about this, I'd probably be expelled on the spot.

With such entertaining thoughts occupying his mind, Harry headed towards the Great Hall to stave off his newfound hunger.

Room of Requirement

There it was again. That oddity he had felt a couple of days ago. It was back.

Its magical presence was even weaker this time, almost indistinguishable from its surroundings, but it was definitely there. A faint hint of Darkness, of the Timeless Void. Albus did not know why it bothered him so; there were plenty of questionable Artefacts and objects residing within Hogwarts, but something about this particular one set his teeth on edge.

Once again utilizing his sense of direction, he traced its magical signature back to Ravenclaw Tower. Seeing as its presence was weaker than last time, however, he couldn't accurately narrow down its location to one specific spot. He could only tell that it was somewhere within the Tower.

Albus himself was currently in the Room of Requirement. He had come here to search for Rowena Ravenclaw's long lost Diadem, but as usual, had not been able to find it. The search for it had become somewhat of a pastime activity for him at this point, something he was determined to keep toiling away at until he finally found it. Not that he ever would, though. He had a sneaking suspicion the Room itself had decided the item was not for him to find, and as such, hid it from his sight whenever he came to look for it.

Apparating himself to his office, he sat down in his chair with a long sigh, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to chase away the tiredness he was feeling. He had been up all morning to fulfill his duties as the Supreme Mugwump, something that always seemed to take it out of him. Dealing with the baboons of the International Confederation of Wizards was a daunting task, especially so whenever an important case came up. Those always resulted in tedious debates.

And now, with this unknown entity popping up in his castle, yet another entry had been added to his steadily growing list of things he probably should do something about, but didn't have the time to deal with. He hadn't even been able to keep a close eye on Harry lately, who was his most ambitious project. Getting the boy to sacrifice himself for the greater good was not going to be easy, after all, especially not if he didn't have anything he felt strongly enough about to protect. Befriending Hermione Granger had been a solid step in the right direction, but the son of Lily and James still had a long way to go before he could be considered even remotely interested in others well-being. As it currently stood, Albus was absolutely positive Harry could not care less about the future of Magical Britain, which did not bode well for his plans.

For now though, there was frustratingly little Albus could do about that, so he decided to let things run their course, and leave room for meddling later. The boy still had plenty of time before Voldemort could work up enough power and influence to return to life, after all.

The question now though, was what to do with the oddity of Ravenclaw Tower, which appeared to be developing into a permanent issue. Albus certainly could just waltz over there and take a look around, but such an act would probably give rise to suspicion amongst the students living in the Tower, and he did not want to make them think that anything was wrong or out of the ordinary.

Sometimes, the role of Headmaster leaves little room for personal investigation, he thought to himself as he gently perused over some pieces of parchment that had been placed on his desk. They were nothing more than small curriculum changes, but still required his seal of approval before they could be put into effect.

I suppose I shall deal with the issue later. Probably much later, knowing my schedule.

Gryffindor Common Room

Ron Weasley let out a shriek of frustration as his King was placed in checkmate for the millionth time that evening. He had been playing against Dean for what felt like an eternity now, and had been thoroughly beaten multiple times throughout that period. Dean was simply much better than he was at chess, but he refused to acknowledge that as he yet again started placing his pieces back on the chessboard.

"I want a rematch!" he snarled as he sent Dean a look filled with thinly-veiled hatred. The young Gryffindor sitting opposite of him couldn't help but smile as he nodded in response to Ron's obvious agitation, already certain that he was going to win this round as well. Frustration and logical thinking did not go hand in hand, after all, which put Ron at a clear disadvantage.

"Of course. In fact, lets make things a little bit more… interesting…" Dean smiled nefariously as he pulled out a small notebook from the folds of his robes. "10 Galleons says I win."

"Fine!" Ron shouted back, wincing internally at the steep price he had so carelessly agreed to. 10 Galleons was almost an entire month's worth of his pocket money. Ginny would no doubt be mad with him if he lost now.

A/N: 10 Galleons equals about £49.3 Pound sterling when translated into modern currency.

"Winner takes it all; loser goes home with an empty wallet."

"Deal!"

And so, the two students turned their attention back to the game, blocking out their surroundings as the round picked up.

"Dammit!" Ron wailed whilst furiously slamming his fist against the table, knocking over several chess pieces in his fit of fury. His opponent remained unfazed by this, though, and just carried on pocketing his newly earned Galleons with a broad smile on his face.

"You almost had me there for a second, Ron," he remarked, rising from his seat now that the game had concluded and the rewards had been reaped.

"Whatever… Losing 10 Galleons is no big deal anyways," Ron responded, opting to appear lofty and uncaring instead of furious, which was what he actually was. Ginny was definitely going to kill him.

"Oh, I see. Well, thanks for the game anyways, I had fun," Dean waved back as he headed out of the Common Room, leaving behind a not-so-secretly fuming Ron.

I hate that guy, Ron thought to himself as he watched his opponent leave, bending down with a sigh to clean up the mess he had made when he hit the table. Why do I never seem to get better at chess? I play it all the time for crying out loud!

"Uhmm… Ron?" a voice suddenly piped up, making him jump in his chair. Turning his eyes upwards, he was surprised to see Parvati Patil standing before him.

"Blimey, you scared me Parvati! What do you want?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean to…" she responded, fixing her gaze on the ground instead of looking him in the eye. "I just came to… to tell you that Draco is looking for you."

Wait, what?

"Draco?!" he almost yelled back, his eyebrows shooting up in confusion. "As in Draco Malfoy?"

"Y-Yes… I don't know what he wants, so you're gonna have to ask him yourself…" she continued, turning to leave before she had even finished her sentence. "He's waiting for you outside the Common Room."

"O…Okay…"

Watching Parvati leave, Ron couldn't help but wonder exactly what it was Draco Malfoy could possibly want with him. The two of them usually ended up butting heads every time they encountered one another, so he had no clue why Malfoy would willingly want to speak with him now.

Nonetheless, Ron figured he'd go listen to whatever it was he wanted, and then go get some sleep. He was feeling unusually tired after being so thoroughly beaten by Dean, and could use a good couple hours of shut-eye.

And sure enough, after leaving the Common Room and asking the portrait of the Fat Lady to open up, he immediately spotted Draco and his goons standing just outside the Gryffindor chambers with an impatient look on their faces.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Ron asked, deciding not to leave the opening just in case the boys planned to jump him or something.

"Ugh, finally. You sure took your time," Draco responded, crossing his arms after brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face.

"Yeah, I was busy."

"Figures. Well, I'm going to cut straight to the chase: I need your help."

There was a moment of silence between them before Draco's words registered in his brain.

"You need my whatnow?"

"I need your help."

Another moment of silence came and went, as Ron's mind went into overdrive trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

"What in Godric's name could you possibly need my help for?"

A small smile appeared on Draco's face as he heard Ron's response.

"You know Harry Potter, right?"

Norway, Location Unknown

The wind howled as it blew up tiny clouds of snow amongst the frozen trees of the Norwegian forest. It was winter now, and as such, the weather was brutal and the temperature unforgiving. Anything out here in this abandoned wasteland had long since frozen to ice, trapped in time until the warm summer heat finally came and thawed it back to life.

Despite the bleak outlook, the landscape retained a certain beauty, a type of natural charm one could only find in the middle of an untouched wilderness. All manner of beasts and creatures living side by side in perfect unity, the cycle of life unbroken and never-ending. Predators hunting prey. The strong dominating the weak.

Amongst this snowy wonderland, a lone soul traversed the terrain with relative ease, unaffected by the strong wind and harsh temperature. As of now, the little thing was nothing but a speck of magic, a needle in an otherwise enormous haystack. But soon, it would grow into something so much more. A person. And not just any person. The Dark Lord himself, in fact.

Ever since that night in Godric's Hollow, Voldemort had spent several years drifting around aimlessly as a fragmented piece of soul. He had watched the British Wizarding World forget about him and his rule of terror, and move on as if nothing had ever happened. He had watched his Death Eaters go into hiding, denying any and all connection to him and swearing to become "law-abiding" citizens once again. The cowards had even gone so far as to dissolve their weekly meetings, out of fear of "anyone figuring out their true allegiances".

He had been a fool to place so much trust in them in the first place. Most of them were nothing but second-rate wizards anyway, weak men on a desperate search for power and control. But they were his second-rate wizards. His men. And he would be damned if he was going to stand by and watch from the sidelines as everything he'd ever worked for fell apart and crumbled.

For now, he had to stay hidden, stay amongst the shadows, licking his wounds like a beaten dog. But some day, he would return. He would return, and exact his vengeance upon those who had betrayed him. And most importantly of all, he would kill the boy responsible for destroying his grip on Britain, for daring to interfere with his plans. Harry Potter was going to die by his hand, and until that day, he would not rest.

Live in fear, Harry. Live in fear.

A/N: Now, before you ask, let me just get this out of the way: Yes, I did just turn Sirius Black into the human equivalent of a cannonball. No, that is probably not how he escaped Azkaban in the Harry Potter books. But I am still sticking with it.

So now that we have that out of the way, I would like to congratulate you on finishing yet another chapter of this little fanfiction of mine. This thing is turning out to be quite the interesting challenge, actually, as I constantly have to juggle several different characters, their motivations and the overarching plot. Definitely one of my more interesting works.

As always, if you enjoyed the read, please be sure to leave a review, as they do make my day, and if you're interested in tagging along for the ride, how about dropping a Follow? Never hurts, you know. That's completely up to you, though.

And thanks yet again for the amazing support these chapters have been receiving. You guys are the best, figuratively speaking, seeing as I probably don't know any of you personally. Reading your comments and seeing the amount of people visiting the story steadily rise over time never fails to bring joy to this tiny, cold heart. So thanks again for that.

And I think that's it. So I guess I will see you guys in the next chapter then?

-Twisted