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

Room of Requirement

"Harry…"

"Nghh…"

"Harry."

"S'hlemme shleep…"

"You've slept for two hours already, it's time to wake up."

"Nooo…"

The childish petulancy in his voice did little to mask the underlying mountain of fatigue. He was utterly exhausted, that much was readily apparent. Though, he supposed any person would be, after suffering the hellish schedule of an immortal for weeks on end.

"If you want to sleep, we've got a bed for that," Hermione reminded him, yet her voice lacked that stern quality that would inspire action. For she too was running on fumes, and did not have the leftover energy to act the disciplinarian.

"I know… but this desk is sooo comfortable…" Harry whined, his upper body and face splayed out on the wooden surface.

"No, it's not," Hermione sighed. "You're just so tired, you could sleep on concrete. Just look at your posture! Your spine is shaped like an S! You look like roadkill!"

"I feel like roadkill," Harry retorted drily. "Nicolas has ruined me."

"I have not," the accused party said from his seat at the adjacent desk. "You simply lack grit."

"Grit? Oh I'll show you grit, old man," Harry grumbled, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His back gave an audible crack at the motion.

It was Wednesday evening at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Harry Potter was experiencing a slow death at the hands of Nicolas' sadomasochistic training regimen. The man was an absolute machine, and a merciless instructor to boot, which usually rendered Harry a wobbly pile of goo by the end of each day.

His only saving grace was his status as a Triwizard Champion, which freed him from scholastic obligations relating to homework, tests, and other such assignments, to allow him full focus on the tournament. If it hadn't been for that, he was certain he would have been failing several classes right about now.

"You could always quit, if it's too much for you," Nicolas said, his gaze still fixed on the strange object in his hands. At a glance, it resembled a greyed-out Rubik's cube, but once you took a closer look, you'd notice a plethora of minuscule runes and symbols carved into each side. The runeset was so complex and tightly woven that Harry doubted anyone except its creator would fully understand what it was meant to do.

"Not on my life." Harry shook his head.

A tiny smile appeared on Nicolas' lips.

"That's what I like to hear."

"... Either way, I think I'll call it a day," Hermione yawned, leaning down to wrap her arms around Harry's neck. "I've been staring at this book for so long, the words are starting to blend together."

"Fair enough," Harry breathed, leaning into her touch. "I'll probably join you soon enough. Just need to get through this last segment."

"The same segment you fell asleep to?" Hermione asked with a smirk.

"Yup," Harry sighed. "It's not exactly riveting."

"Well, the next Task in the Triwizard Tournament is in a week, so you'd better get to it," she reminded him as she rested her weight on his head. "I also hope you've been practicing your Heating Charms. Godric knows you're going to need them."

"I have, it's just been… difficult, to find the time."

"Yeah, I get that."

A moment of contemplation descended upon their group then, before Hermione planted a light kiss on his cheek, and backed off.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow then," she said, turning to leave the room. "Try not to wake me when you go to bed, or I'll kick you over the edge."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry nodded. "Sleep tight."

During the past week, they had made the decision to remodel their living space in the Room of Requirement, separating their bedroom from the study area. This was largely done to accommodate their comically increased study load, which often called for long hours at their desks. With the rooms separated, they could each sleep and study at irregular times, without running the risk of disturbing the other.

The remodeled main room was essentially a small library. During the day, sunlight would stream in through a large, stained-glass window on the far side, casting vibrant hues upon shelves adorned with myriad books and tomes. Every nook and cranny held a literary world waiting to be explored, from ancient scrolls to leather-bound classics and modern textbooks. Two mahogany desks littered with reading material stood at the center of it all, bedecked by a cozy fireplace and a broad couch.

This was their study space, and it was perfect. In this haven of learning, time slowed down, allowing them both to immerse themselves fully in their respective work. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, that the small library held within its walls the power to transport even the busiest of minds to a place of erudition and peace.

But now, even that extraordinary ability fell short of inspiring Harry, whose stamina had long since reached its endpoint.

"Ahh… If only this damned tournament could cease to exist, then maybe…" he groaned, resting his head in the palm of his hands. Nicolas, who had up until now been working tirelessly on his cube-shaped project, finally laid the strange contraption down, and went to fetch himself a glass of scotch. By the time he got back, a contemplative look had settled on his features.

"I think… I'll tell you a story," he said, getting seated on the couch next to the unlit fireplace. "It's a true story, taken from my own past experiences."

"Uhh… sure?" Harry replied. "Go for it, I guess. It's not like I'm making much progress on this book, either way."

"Precisely," Nicolas nodded. "Now then… once, a long time ago, I was petitioned by the East India Trading Company to perform a… most peculiar task. This was in the early 1800s, mind you, when the Company was at the height of its powers, and the British empire spread far and wide across the globe."

Harry blinked twice and opened his mouth as if to speak. Before he had uttered a single phrase, however… he closed it again, having decided against it in the spur of the moment.

Something tells me I'm about to hear quite the story…

"Back in those days, it was common practice for governments and large organizations to solicit advice and assistance from witches and wizards. Our kind was much less numerous and collegial in those times, so our services often came at a premium," Nicolas continued, casting his gaze out the window, as if looking in on a different life, in a different time. "On this particular occasion, the East India Company had use of a well-travelled and experienced wizard, to check in on one of the islands under their dominion, in the Indian Ocean."

It occurred to Harry then, as he sat listening to him speak, just how unfathomably old Nicolas truly was. Here was a man who had been around to witness and experience some of the greatest moments in human history – an unrivalled encyclopedia of information about life for the past 650 years or so. A living incarnation of antiquity, holding centuries of knowledge and insight.

Historians would probably kill to get so much as a single hour with him, Harry pondered silently to himself. And here I am, some random kid with no formal education nor pedigree to speak of, studying under him like some kind of protégé.

The thought of that made his head spin.

"Bear in mind that… nothing happened quickly back then," Nicolas added with a forlorn smile. "In fact, the general idea of things 'happening quickly' is a largely modern notion. Nowadays, if you want to get to the other side of the globe, you go to the nearest airport, and within 24 hours, you're there. In the 1800s, such a journey took months, if not years, depending on the method of transportation."

Harry nodded, to signal that he understood. Whilst he could not claim to have travelled much in his as-of-yet relatively short life, it was certainly a thing he intended to do in the future… granted he lived long enough to see such peaceful days.

"However, being a wizard skilled in the art of Apparition, travel for me was… considerably less time-consuming than it was for others," Nicolas noted. "Just another reason why a wizard's services did not come cheap – back then, we were pretty much the only group capable of getting things 'done quickly', which was a luxury worth its weight in gold."

Shifting his weight around, he took a conservative sip of the golden-brown liquid in his glass.

"Anyway, I'm getting sidetracked… The point is that the East India Company had use for a man of my talents, and so for a hefty sum of gold, I agreed to travel to this island of theirs. At first, I didn't think much of it. A remote place where some contractors had gone missing – nothing out of the ordinary. But once I got there… well…"

Harry waited with bated breath, finding himself drawn in by his mentor's story. A true recollection of the distant past, told by a legendary wizard - who wouldn't be enraptured by such a premise?

"The people indigenous to the island were surprisingly welcome, at first. They did not seem to mind my presence in their village, and even offered me food and drink from their own limited supply," Nicolas said. "A grand gesture, as I'm sure you understand. To be given something by those who have so little… it was moving, in a way."

He took another sip of his scotch.

"Sadly, it was also a ploy, meant to lull me into a false sense of security. As soon as I had fallen asleep that night, they took my wand, my equipment, and my clothes, and stripped me naked to a wooden pole."

A suitably predictable outcome, Harry thought. He'd seen enough old adventure movies involving strange native tribes to call that particular plot twist.

"It was then that I learned what had happened to the others who had come before me."

"Let me guess," Harry said. "Tied to wooden poles and left to starve?"

"Wrong," Nicolas smirked. Evidently, he'd seen the same movies. "They'd been opened up, had their internal organs removed, cleaned and eaten, and then been stitched back together again to be revived as empty husks."

A long moment of silence followed.

"Wow," Harry said. It was about the only thing he could think of in response to such a statement.

"Yes," Nicolas nodded. "Not a good way to go, to be honest. Coming back as an Inferius is not something one would typically wish for."

"But… why?" Harry frowned. "Why kill them just to bring them back as Inferi?"

"Why?" Nicolas blinked. "Well, because Inferi are leagues and bounds more useful than live humans, that's why. It's perfectly simple, really."

"More useful?"

"Yes, very much so. As opposed to a normal person, an Inferius does not need to eat, sleep or drink. It does not get tired, nor does it complain. It can work for days without rest, and will not contract illnesses or other types of sickness that will render it bedridden," Nicolas explained, placing the now drained scotch glass on a nearby coffee table. "Think on it. An Inferius is, in essence, the ultimate slave; a creature inextricably bound to its masters' will until it is either destroyed, or otherwise relieved of its duty."

Harry's mouth took on a decidedly o-shaped form as his mind considered the practical applications of such a being. He had to admit, the possibilities were boundless… and more than a little appealing.

"So, what… the natives had Inferi working for them?"

"Oh yes," Nicolas confirmed. "And not just for traditional tasks like guard duty, either. They used them for everything – collection of water, hunting, carrying and transportation of heavy goods… in a way, a large chunk of their entire infrastructure revolved around the Inferi."

"That's-…" Harry started, only to find that he lacked the words to properly describe it. A word like amazing did not feel entirely appropriate, given the admittedly heinous act involved, which in turn also ruled out the word ingenious. Perhaps clever could work?

"I can see what you're thinking," Nicolas smirked. "And you're right. From a purely logical standpoint, it's deviously imaginative. From a moral point of view, though…"

"It's repulsive," Harry finished, silently lamenting the squandered potential of such an idea. He supposed it was just one of those things that were doable as a dark wizard, but not as an ordinary member of society. Using the bodies of the deceased for manual labor would generally be frowned upon in most cultures, he thought.

"Precisely. Either way, one cannot deny the efficiency of such a system. It felt like quite the waste burning it all to the ground," Nicolas sighed.

"Yeah…" Harry said, and for a while after, they simply sat there in the silence, ruminating upon that which had been discussed. It wasn't until several minutes later that Harry finally moved to speak once more.

"I… have a question," he said, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Yes?" Nicolas replied.

"Why did you tell me this story?"

"Oh. Well, it's quite simple," Nicolas started, leaning back in the couch. "The point I was trying to make is that… magic can be applied in a wide variety of ways to solve a problem. Think of it like the world's most complex Swiss army knife – each branch splitting off from the center representing a different tool, for different situations."

"Okay…?" Harry said, not quite grasping what Nicolas was getting at.

"A lot of wizards inevitably end up falling victim to the trap of relying too much upon the traditional," Nicolas continued, after noticing Harry's confusion. "They use the same set of spells their entire lives. Stupefy and Expelliarmus for dueling, Wingardium Leviosa for heavy lifting, Alohomora for locked doors, et cetera. And in so doing, they forget the versatility of their own tool."

A spark of understanding slowly began to blossom in Harry's mind.

"In this way, they neuter their own creativity, and fail to grasp their true potential," Nicolas finished. "The best duelist isn't always the one who can cast Stupefy the fastest, or with the most magical power. It's the one who knows how to utilize his environment, who can come up with new strategies on the fly, and find creative ways to defeat his opponent."

Harry had to admit, he had a point. From what little he had seen of wizarding duels, he'd been left with the distinct impression that a lot of the same spells seemed to be thrown around, with only minor changes or additions included in the mix. Active combat transfiguration, for instance, was something he'd only seen done once before on a dueling stage.

"Remember this, Harry," Nicolas said. "No matter where you find yourself, or who you find yourself facing, you should always strive to look for weaknesses you can exploit. Even something as simple and unorthodox as a strong Lumos Maxima to blind your opponent can turn the tide of battle, after all."

Committing the information to memory, Harry swore to himself right then and there to one day ask Nicolas to duel him – if for no other reason than to study the man's fighting style as he got his shit kicked in.

Malfoy Manor

Tom stood before the crackling fireplace in his personal bedroom in Malfoy Manor, the flames caressing his pale skin with a soothing constant of warmth and heat. Shadows danced across the room, echoing the darkness that reigned outside the windows.

The space exuded an air of opulence and grandeur, as if the very concept of luxury had its birthplace here. The walls, draped in rich, blood-red velvet, seemed to pulsate with a hidden energy, casting a haunting hue across the room. A gilded chandelier hung from the ceiling, reflecting glimmers from the fireplace upon the lavish mirror standing at the far end of the room. The centerpiece of it all was an enormous four-poster bed, adorned with black satin sheets that seemed to absorb the light. The towering headboard, intricately carved with motifs of entwined serpents, loomed above exquisite pillows.

It was a sanctuary of indulgence and secrecy, a place where desires and nightmares married and became one. A place he could find solace, away from the squabbling of his underlings.

The fire in front of him bent and swayed, as if on the beck and call of his gaze. With a thin frown curled upon cold lips, he extended his hand toward the blaze, fingers outstretched as if ready to grasp the very essence of the inferno.

The flames flickered and writhed.

He retracted his hand.

The fire returned to serene crackling.

The silence of the room enveloped him like a shroud, allowing his thoughts to wander freely. In the depths of his contemplation, he recognized the void that consumed him with insatiable hunger. That bottomless abyss of voracity, ever-present, ever-beckoning.

He turned his inner eye away from its gaping maw, and towards more sensible matters.

Their infiltration of the Ministry was proceeding apace. And whilst they were not yet ready to make their move, the pieces were beginning to line up rather nicely. As fate would have it, Cornelius Fudge seemed most eager to keep the metaphorical blindfold planted firmly in front of his eyes for as long as possible, making it almost too easy for Tom to settle his men in favorable positions within the governing body.

There were still some… dissenters left to deal with, of course. People like Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley, who were no doubt feeding Dumbledore information about the goings-on in the Ministry and such. But Tom had little doubt these minor obstacles would be dealt with in due time. They posed little to no threat as of yet, either way.

Their negotiations with the giants and the werewolves were also yielding results. His close partnership with Fenrir Greyback had indeed paid off in the long run, much as he had suspected. It was easier to win over creatures of "near-human intelligence" when you had one of your own doing the talking for you.

They were always going to join me, though, Tom frowned to himself. They are tired of living under an oppressive Ministry that places restrictions on their territory and lifestyle. In that sense, Dumbledore and Fudge have done much of my job for me - all I had to do was promise them freedom to live as they see fit, in my new world, and they came running with open arms.

The vampires had been strangely combative, though. They had killed most of the envoys he'd sent them, and even gone so far as to insinuate retaliation should he persist in his ministrations.

They are likely upset over the outcome of the last war, he thought, pursing his lips in distaste. As if I could have known what would happen to me.

Their belligerency was vexing. For creatures that lived for hundreds of years, they could be surprisingly shortsighted.

Ahh well… All will join me, in time, he thought. Once they realize the practicality and favorability of my proposed world.

Contrary to popular belief, Tom had no real desire to rule over a broken nation. He had realized this during his exile, after tasting defeat at the hands of Harry Potter. His earlier ways of going about things were entirely wrong, from top to bottom. Forcing obedience through terror. Capturing and torturing any who disagreed with him. Laying waste to entire villages. It was all wrong.

What point was there in being lord of the ashes? A ruler of nothing?

No, he was done with that. With the mindless horror and the iron fist. His long absence from the wizarding world, combined with his numerous conversations with Merlin, had taught him as much.

This time, things would be different. He would move one step at a time – exert his influence from the shadows, avoid direct confrontation for as long as possible. Play the long game.

And then, who knows? I might even be able to convince them that I have the right of things. After all, the vision I propose is far from evil.

At its core, Tom's belief was shockingly simple. Wizards were more useful than muggles. They could channel magic, whilst muggles could not. That much was an irrefutable fact, a truth of life. And yet…

Wizards were the ones conforming to the muggles. They were the ones living by someone else's rules.

That made no sense to him. Why should the muggles be the ones in control? They were weaker, frailer, and less suited for leadership than wizards. After all, it was nature's law that the strong rule, and the weak follow.

The current state of affairs spat in the face of natural selection, of logic, of sensibility. It put the weakest link in charge of important decisions, and placed restrictions upon those who held the power to enact real change. Wizards could be, would be, so much more once muggles were put in their place.

And it was not like he intended to mindlessly slaughter and terrorize them, either. They could live happy and free, away from the responsibility of leadership. He harbored no hatred for them, as surely as the lion harbored no hatred for the prey it hunted. It was simply… the way of life.

Yet, he realized his earlier conduct had not been promotive of this view. He had killed indiscriminately, and made himself a despot in the eyes of the public. These days, his name alone was enough to instill fear in a man, and fear was a useful tool… in moderation. But he did not wish to rule purely by terror.

If only he could prove to them that he was different now… that he had changed.

Either way, it all begins with the Ministry, he reminded himself. Cornelius Fudge is unfit to lead us. I shall relieve him of his duties, and install a better man in his place.

Suddenly, and without preamble, an intrusive image flashed before his mind's eye. It was a familiar sight, one he had grown accustomed to seeing over the past couple of weeks.

Brown curls framing eyes like darkened amber. Pale skin bedecked by rosy lips. The scent of mandarin orange mixed with sweet vanilla and caramel.

He drew a deep breath to steady himself against the onslaught of sensations. He thought he would have gotten used to this by now, but it never failed to unsettle him.

Intellectually, he knew the cause of it. Emotionally, he was helpless to resist.

These were his memories. Impressions and emotions passed down through the blood that now bound them, made manifest in Tom's mind. Their lives forever entwined by their shared essence, like vines in a tangled forest, painting a tapestry of resentment and conflict… yet dancing on the brink of a destiny that neither could escape.

Potter's love for the Mudblood girl had left an obscene stain on his very being – a stain of such pungency, it had carried over to Tom. Because of this, he was forced to endure vicious assaults of an unfamiliar nature – namely that of love, and what it could do to a man.

This experience was entirely foreign to Tom, as he was… unacquainted with the concept of romance. He had never felt strong emotions for a significant other, nor any particular desire to pursue relationships of such a nature. He'd realized at a rather young age that he was… different… from others, in this regard.

But now, with visions of brown curls permeating his thoughts, he'd found a strange aching in his chest. An ache the likes of which he'd never suffered from before.

It seems I have you to thank for this weakness, Potter, he grimaced, as he brought a hand to his forehead. Though I wouldn't say I'm grateful for the gift.

"My lord?"

The inquiring voice came from behind – a servant here to fetch him. Tom vaguely recognized the man as a Ministry official called Pius Thicknesse.

"Yes?" he replied without turning, surprised by the forlorn note to his speech.

"The preparations are finished. We are ready to proceed with the plan, once you give the signal."

A tired sigh forced its way up his throat at the message.

"By all means, go ahead," Tom waved. "The men know what to do."

He could all but feel the smile on the man's face as he spoke.

"… Certainly, my lord."

A/N: A bit of a different one this time around. A lot of talking and introspection, but I think most of you understand why it was necessary. There's... a lot... packed into this chapter, and it felt necessary to give it the room it required (hah) to "breathe" properly, if that makes sense. Either way, I hope you enjoyed it, even if it was a little on the boring side.

As always, apologies for the massive delay between this chapter and the previous one. Believe it or not, but my life is... extremely busy, most of the time, which leaves depressingly little room for creative endeavours. I'm also writing my own original book series on the side, which I hope to one day have professionally published, so there's that.

I hope all of you enjoyed Hogwarts Legacy, by the way. I gotta say I was impressed by the way they managed to bring Hogwarts and Hogsmeade to life... even if the rest of the game was a little lacking. I still haven't finished it, mostly because the story is ass (shocker, I know) and because Tears of the Kingdom exists. In a potential future HP game from WB, I hope they spend a little more time on the story and the characters, because what Legacy gave us just ain't gonna cut it.

Either way, I think that's all from me. Summer vacation is just around the corner now, so here's to hoping my productivity spikes once it rolls around. Who knows - maybe I'll manage two chapters a month for a change? Wouldn't that be something...

With love and appreciation - Twisted.