The Tragedy of Harry Potter

by Momento Virtuoso

Harry is cut down by an unknown curse in the Forbidden Forest by Lord Voldemort. As he lay dying on the forest floor clutching the Resurrection Stone in hand, Harry is offered the choice between passing onward or continuing forward to his fate. However, he wouldn't pick where he left off instead finding himself in a world and time he'd only seen in photographs. AU. Time-travel.

2. To Be a Good Man

A/N: New Updated Chapter. A decent bit has been changed around here folks, honestly for the better. I think the story is now a bit more polished and smoother than its first edition. Let me know if you see any errors and I'll get to editing them out.

AU Changes: Bellatrix is the same age as Sirius, James, Lily etc. I'm lumping a lot of the characters into being born in 1960 to make this story work. Regulus is 3 years younger rather than 2 from Sirius, Andromeda Black is one year younger than Bella and Narcissa two years younger than her. An entire wand black market and some insight into wand lore among other things.

Enjoy the next chapter. Onwards.

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The Tragedy of Harry Potter

By. Momento Virtuoso
A/N: I do not own Harry Potter unlike J.K.

Chapter 2.

To Be A Good Man

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Sneaking into the Ministry of Magic after hours was easier now than it had been in his fifth year. Entering the telephone box to access the guest entrance, Harry pinned the guest badge to his robes which read in bold letters magically appearing:

Harry Evans
Department of Mysteries
Heist

Entering the Atrium as it lay empty. There was no wizard guard to scan and catalog the wands of guests as they arrived at the entrance to the governmental building. No auror's were on duty guarding the various entries or elevators near the offices. The Atrium was completely silent and absent of working souls. The dark marble, and large golden statues depicting magical unity between several magical creatures and wizards never looked less imposing to Harry.

Despite the lack of human presence, Harry knew that the ministry of this time period much like his own was a very dangerous place. There could be Death Eaters or potentially imperiused victims hiding inside the halls of the wizarding government working for the Dark Lord or waiting to strike out in the empty halls. He was ambushed here before by Death Eaters, it was not an experience he'd like to repeat.

Casting a disillusionment charm over his head with his newly acquired holly-wand. Harry made his way to the golden elevators that would take him down to the ninth floor where the Department of Mysteries resided alongside the Wizengamot courtrooms where the lords often met for their daily meetings.

Exiting the elevator after the quick ride down to the bowels of the Ministry, Harry was approaching the dark stoned door that he dreamed about for so many nights that year when his scar plagued him relentlessly due to the connection from Voldemort.

Harry was eternally grateful that the connection between them both had been severed when Voldemort severed Harry's soul in the forest.

The knob to the black door housing the Department of Mysteries turned at his touch upon reaching for the cold brass. The proverbial barrier cast itself aside silently on its hinges, making way for Harry to enter the circular room lined with twelve identical doors. Much to Harry's luck, it only seemed they found the good sense to lock it tight sometime in the next two decades.

The Time Room. Harry knew his destination in the maze that made up this Ministry Department. That was his destination this time instead of the Hall of Prophecy. He had to see what the Unspeakables knew about Time-travel, Harry had to know if there was a potential way back to his time. Back to his friends.

Harry stepped through the doorway into the circular room. Immediately his disillusionment charm fluttered and failed. The various wards embedded within the walls interfering with his magic. Harry was visible for anyone to see while inside the Department of Mysteries…

Before the door he entered the Department closed and his surroundings began spinning, Harry cast a cutting curse upon its frame, leaving a physical 'X' on the door he entered from.

"It'll have to do," Harry grumbled to himself, wishing that he knew how to reliably cast the bluebell flames that Hermione had always been so proficient with. However, a big blue burning flame would alert anyone who came by, whereas someone would have to inspect the door closing in the dim lighting to spot the physical mark he left behind.

Harry didn't want to consider the consequences if he was caught down here. He was a nobody now. His fame as the Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't protect him or see him escape a stint in Azkaban for trespassing like his fifth-year adventure.

With the door to the rest of the Ministry now firmly shut behind him bearing its new marker, the room began to spin. For several moments the doors spun at a speed that Harry could no longer track in a blur. Finally, the doors slowed and came to a complete stop. The doors remained motionless.

Inspecting the doors to find the one bearing his 'X', Harry found the offending door, and moved to the next one to its right.

Taking the most forward route, Harry pushed open the door he had selected. The door revealed a large open expansive room filled with various unique objects. Desks lined one of the walls with papers stacked high on each.

Harry's attention was immediately captured by the large tank of floating brains in the center of the room. He knew from his previous experiences that his best interests lay in not touching a single one of the brains.

"The room of memory," Harry said quietly to himself.

In one corner of the room sat an eerie chair that seemed would fit a person. It reminded Harry of the electric chair that muggles would use to execute dangerous prisoners. Uncle Vernon was always giddy when a criminal would be sentenced to sit in one whether on the news or the papers.

Glancing up, the ceiling wasn't towering like the Hall of Prophecy. Harry could make out the vague outlines of arches in the darkness.

Like the entire Department, there were no windows or natural light. The room was eerily lit by torches of blue and purple flames that gave off no heat, leaving a chill in the air.

Harry despite knowing better due to the story of what happened when Ron foolishly summoned one. Approached the large tank and inspected the brains, eerily floating in their green liquid. Moving, attaching, and detaching from one another. One brain took an interest in Harry and failed to get him through the glass.

Settling his curiosity of the brains, Harry backed out of the memory room but left the door open so that the spinning enchantment on the circular room wouldn't begin again. If it did, Harry would be here all night, he thought glumly.

Moving to his right once again for the next door, he reached out and tried to open the door but found it tightly locked. The handle would not budge a centimeter. Harry flicked his wand out at the offending door knob. "Alohomora!" he casted to no avail trying to open the door once again.

The door remained locked. Shaking his head, Harry moved onto the next door on the right side.

Swinging the next open to be greeted by the sight of a floating celestial body, specifically the moon close up. Harry didn't move forward into the room as there was no perceivable floor before him. It seemed like the room expanded out into nothingness…

Harry remembered what his friends had said about the room with the strange planets and how it seemed to lack a floor. Leaving them just seemingly floating for some time while they tried to escape from the Death Eaters.

Having seen enough of this room as well, Harry moved on once more. However, his blood chilled at opening the next door.

Before him was an empty amphitheater-like room, with a lone solitary arch in the center with a translucent veil fluttering between the two pillars. Just like before, Harry's senses were immediately assaulted by an insistent chiseling at the base of his skull. A nudge. An urge to step closer; even to step through…

Harry could feel the call from the other side. He thought about the call of the train in the cathedral-like train station on the Otherside.

Harry stepped through the door into the Death room. With every step the chisel swung harder and harder at his skull. Wincing, Harry felt a sudden attack on his Occlumency shields - but there was nobody to cast Legilimens upon him. He felt the welcoming chill and comfort of death before in the Forbidden Forest, and he was feeling it here as well.

Harry's fingers began to shake at the feeling of the magic emanating from the archway. It chilled his body from his skin, to his bones, down to the ethereal being of his own exposed soul.

Unable to stop himself, Harry walked down the stairs towards an object that had haunted his nightmares ever since fifth-year. He could still see Sirius falling through after being hit by Bellatrix Lestrange's curse when his eyes closed some nights. His most haunting memory being the mad woman's cackling laugh of joy at striking down her cousin.

Just like before, when he first came upon the arch and veil to rescue Sirius and deny Voldemort the prophecy, Harry had the strangest feeling that there was someone standing right behind the veil on the other side of the archway, whispering away.

As he got closer, the whispering became much clearer. Seducing all of Harry's physical senses. It became a carousel of voices that Harry did and didn't recognize repeating themselves over and over, some fast and others slow.

Harry Potter…Lost Boy…Who Lived…

Must Die…Neither Can Live…Survive…Not The Hero?…

Knows The Power The Dark Lord Knows Not…

Help Will Always Be Granted At Hogwarts To Those Who Ask…

Hallows, Not Horcuxes….Hallows…

Not Harry, No…Kill Me Instead…Please! Not My Harry…

Death Cruel…Time Crueler…Object Of The Fates…

I Could Stay Up Here If You'd Like…

The Potion…It must be drunk…

Let Me Be Brave…Like My Brother

The Serpent Eats The Snake… Am I a Good Man?

Blood…Does Not Lie…

Unwitting Sacrifice…

Like A Pig To Slaughter… Not The Hero?...

Bella-...

Harry violently came out from his trance like state launching himself backwards hard onto the dias away from the fluttering veil. The chisel was back, and the voices were hissing angrily at Harry for refuting them once more.

Harry's breaths left his chest panicked. He hadn't realized how close he had been to the archway, his hand about to reach through the veil to whatever lay on the other side. Almost immediately, the voices and whispering stopped. His head no longer felt like it was being nailed to a board.

Adrenaline was pumping through his body, despite not having any conflict so far on this mission. Harry felt like he had once again just narrowly escaped the clawed hands of Death. A figure who eyed him warily but nevertheless accepted the young man's escape once again waiting to collect his due at the proper time.

Pulling himself off the floor, Harry retreated as fast as he could away from the haunting structure. Flying up the stairs two at a time. Not stopping till he flew past the door and slammed it shut behind him. With the other doors still open, the circular room stayed stationary.

Harry's mind was reeling from what he heard come through the veil. More disturbed than the first time he had been exposed to the strange ancient magic all those years ago…Harry wanted to put as much distance between him and that room as possible. After a life like his, there were very few things Harry could say terrified him beyond wits, that room was one of those few.

Gathering his courage to himself once more, Harry decided on another door and continued forward moving along the right side.

Opening the next door Harry came across his desired destination. The Time Room was filled with beautiful, dancing, diamond-sparkling light.

Clocks could be found on nearly every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the length of the room, so that a busy, relentless ticking filled the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. It was enough to drive someone mad if they stayed around the ticking for too long.

There were desks everywhere filled with notes and even more clocks. Experiments left out for anyone passing by to inspect. One jar held an arm which was fully grown but below the wrist was pure white bone while the hand was that of an infant. Other macabre tests with other body parts, animal and human were in the works as Harry's eyes roamed across the notes and other jars.

However the strange outliers in the room were the several cages suspended in the air or resting upon the ground in one corner. They looked large enough to fit one to two people with ease. The space between the bars were thin enough to put an arm through but not escape from.

A huge crystal bell jar stood at the far end of the room, and it was from this that the sparkling light filling up the cavernous structure came. Sand was pooled at the bottom of the jar dripping from the top but never seeming to shrink. Inside the bottom half of the bell jar, was a small humming bird in a constant state of flux. One moment the bird would be flying about, then it'd fall to its death, rise again, revert itself to an egg, hatch, and begin the cycle once more with each drop of sand that fell upon the small creature.

Harry approached and slowly walked around the large bell jar. Watching the life cycle of a hummingbird play out tens of times before his eyes. He knew the danger that lay within the sand.

Returning to his mission at hand, Harry began looking through the rest of the room. Searching for any and all information regarding traveling forward in time.

This task took much longer than Harry would have liked though. He had found accounts of time travelers being tracked through history books, some of which were on display on several desks with their contents highlighted by some kind of organizing spell.

Often he came across margin notes of how the traveler had managed a small deviation before succumbing to something while in the past. Red stamps displaying 'Terminated' were profileric across much of the documentation when Harry looked at mission and person of interest files.

Away from some of the experiments, in a locked case sat shelves and shelves of time-turners. Harry glanced over the small golden and silver hourglasses, the very tools which helped him save his godfather's soul from dementors in his third year at Hogwarts.

The case was locked via key but Harry could feel the wards and enchantments humming just over the glass. If anyone tried to retrieve something from the case, they'd be in for a nasty surprise for sure. He left the case alone.

Moving onwards, taking up at one of the desks Harry took once again to reading through the notes more thoroughly about the various projects being down here, spotting several names such as Chronos, Aurora, Eventide, & Cycle.

The Unspeakables had detailed recordings of exposing someone to something called the Time Vortex. They kept more records tracking their exposed subjects' movements in the past through magic and even archaic methods such as historical documentation.

It seemed the Department liked to use squibs as guinea pigs the most since they were killed off in the past with ease. No major damage could occur to the timeline by the actions they would take, and the issue of a traveler would be concluded rather quickly. It was efficiently self-cleaning, Harry noted.

However, a few lines across several of the reports spoke of a radiation like sickness that every subject had been diagnosed with after being exposed to even trace amounts of the time vortex. No one had survived several months after exposure according to one Unspeakables legible scribbled handwriting. Harry found and picked up one report for a project that chilled his bones.

Project Chronos Trial 078
Test Subject #0456

'Subject's cellular structure was torn apart after minimal exposure to vortex. Skin showcased the forming of blisters, turning red and darkening to a pustulent black. A latency period began shortly afterwards, where immediate effects subsided and was observed for #0456 and the other nineteen subjects in the testing pool. All twenty appeared to have been healthy during this time, but subjects began to show cellular damage manifesting afterwards. Subjects' bone marrow was dead upon inspection, and immune systems among patients began to fail. Two died from sickness during this time. Soon all the subject's organs and soft tissue had begun to decompose with arteries and veins spilling open soon afterwards. It was decided that magic and potions would be used at Unspeakable Filmore's request on Subject #0456 and two others. These patients continued to last with aid for three weeks while the other subjects expired after only three days. It was concluded that the selected dosage to the vortex does not prepare one's body for journey for a branch of time.

Flipping the page to the next subject's report, Harry read how it had taken only two weeks to expire. Another subject passed quickly in two and a half, however the report that chilled Harry was one further down with a singular line sticking out to Harry.

'Subject #0489 has managed to linger for four weeks, longer than any before them. Upon gathering enough data it was determined that the subject was no longer viable so a Killing Curse was administered to make way for the next test.'

How many had been subjected to this sort of testing? Harry wondered. From the vast amount of files and documents, Harry concluded that the experiments in here were on-going for several decades.

There were several noted instances of wizard volunteers, whether they were Unspeakables or not was unknown in the documents. They were exposed to the vortex and sent back without a wand to see if they could influence events subtly. From what Harry could read, the project had been a resulting failure.

There was no such detailed recording though anywhere in the reports that Harry combed through of sending someone to the future. Then again, if it was done…how would those studying it in the past be aware that their trial had any success? Harry thought grimly.

Cursing his luck Harry shoved the files and paperwork away from him. Harry rubbed his eyes in exhaustion. He had lost track of how many papers he had read. Everything from the pages had simply begun to blur together. How long had he even been at this?

It had only been a few hours just after the Ministry closed down when Harry snuck inside. He only had a few hours potentially till the first ministry workers would be arriving to start their next work day.

Checking his time piece on his wrist, Harry watched as the hour, minute, and second hand spun erratically. The room itself was distorting any sense of time it appeared. Whatever ancient magic was in here like the other room, it played by its own terms.

For all Harry now knew, he could have been here for as short as ten minutes or as long as ten hours.

"Well, it's not everyday we have a visitor down here," a voice spoke from behind. Harry swiftly turned around, drawing his wand bearing it before him with a steady hand. His eyes widened as he found himself face to face with a person wearing dark robes and a cowl over their face.

The Unspeakable blocked the doorway to the circular room, Harry's only path of escape. Blinking twice quickly Harry had to make sure he wasn't seeing a Death Eater in his exhaustion.

"You're not meant to be down here boy," the Unspeakable growled out.

The Unspeakable drew their own and met Harry's own with it bearing down at his torso.
"Put it down. Before you do something stupid boy…"

Harry's eyes darted between the Unspeakable and his current surroundings. The Unspeakable's stance spoke of someone who was experienced duelist or combat in general. Harry's hand relaxed and tightened around his phoenix-wand. Just like his first time in the Department of Mysteries, Harry felt wholly unprepared upon being confronted.

"I was just going -," Harry was cut off by a beam of red from the unknown Unspeakables wand. A stunning curse? Harry hoped. The young wizard dove to the ground behind a desk as the wood and paper on top exploded from the errant spell.

"Come on little boy! Come out and play with me," the Unspeakable growled out. Casting a reducto and disintegrating the desk Harry dove away from. The papers from reports and other documents flying into the air.

"Oppugno"! Harry called out, casting his wand towards his opponent. The paper all around the room began to turn into small birds, balls, and other various things homing down on the Unspeakable. They assaulted the ministry worker, and even tried to cover their nose and mouth to cut off their airways.

The Unspeakable twirled their wand after freeing their arm from the large assault and twirled the magical medium in the air creating a whip of fire which lit the storm of paper into a maelstrom of flames.

The Unspeakable banished the flames at Harry and launched the fire whip to capture the boy. The Department was never one to turn away new test subjects after all.

Casting a quick Protego over himself, Harry escaped the fire with minimum burns. Jumping away from the whip as it crashed down and scorched the stone of where he had been standing before.

However, Harry had to jump behind another large clock as a shield when a spell he didn't recognize was flung upon him. Upon impact, the clock began to hiss and melt. It was a boiling hex that had been sent his way, he balked at the nature of the first spell.

He had worse spells sent at him by much darker wizards. Hermione would have killed him over his appalling lack of knowledge for identifying spells though in that moment.

Deciding to go on the offensive. Harry leaped out and ran for more cover while casting a litany of spells from his wand in rapid succession. Stupefy, bludgeoning, and cutting curses left his wand. The Unspeakable easily dismissed the casts by diverting the spells away with the tips of their wand with ample time. Harry cursed his lack of ability with many non-verbal spells. There was only a handful that he had managed to master during his time in sixth year.

Harry was outmatched and it seemed out gunned as a muggle would describe the poor situation.
'Constant vigilance! Always be aware of your surroundings!', the voice of his former Dark Arts professor, Alastor Moody growled in his head. Harry needed to change the battlefield.

Looking around the room, Harry took aim at the large bell jar in the center of the room. Harry remembered the unfortunate fate of the death eater who came in contact with the sand upon a spell breaking the glass, acquiring a baby head in place of their old one. However, he wasn't here to think about the past.

"Reducto!" Harry shouted with a wave of the holly wand. The glass of the jar exploded out. Shooting out across the room, filling the surrounding area with deadly projectiles seeking to pierce where they landed.

The unnamed Unspeakable grunted as one shard cut them across the hip, limiting their mobility. Waving their wand over the wound, a cold spell took hold and numbed the wound for them.

Growling at Harry for the audacity of wounding them slightly, the Unspeakable launched a trip binding curse and banished a pair of chains they transfigured, attempting to subdue Harry.

Harry was clipped by the trip curse, stumbling to his knees but managed to transfigure the pair of chains mid flight in a spark of brilliance back into the tools that the Unspeakable borrowed from their surroundings. Harry hurriedly got his feet back underneath him.

The Unspeakable simply glowered at the display from behind their cowl. The boy was good at avoiding, begrudgingly acknowledging him, but his spell work was abysmal. However, he'd have been absolutely beneath their notice if Harry hadn't managed to get this far into the Department without being lost or driven mad by the rooms.

The sand from the bell jar was flowing out across the floor quite freely now making a large area of the room dangerous ground to enter. Both Harry and the Unspeakable gave it a wide berth for the knowledge they each held about its unassuming danger.

Harry, thinking fast on his feet, sprinted to the other side of the large ever-growing sand pile. Casting a bone breaking hex at the Unspeakable to hide the summoning charm he cast afterwards on the robes they wore.

"Accio robes!" He casted at the Unspeakable. The cowled figure flew forward with a startled cry, their body being dragged through the sand suddenly. Screaming in fright as the sand made contact, the figure began to shrink and shrink till instead of a scream there was now the shrill cry of an infant, followed only by silence afterwards.

The Unspeakable's robes lay in the sand. Harry's eyes widened in shock. He had meant to turn the person into a baby like what had occurred with the Death Eater but Harry could see nothing moving or even inside of the robes and cowl.

Harry never thought the sand had the power to age someone backwards completely into nonexistence. He looked over at the hummingbird which was now just flying about the room peacefully after hiding away from the fight.

Suddenly Harry felt sick to his stomach, emptying the contents of the dinner he had before arriving at the Ministry upon the floor. He had killed someone. Harry knew he had done so before, surely there had been someone in the battle at Hogwarts who died directly or indirectly from his spells.

But the personal nature of seeing the kill in action without a major battle raging around him rang out to Harry like a drum, reverberating down his spine.

Dumbledore had always warned that cold blooded murder was unnatural and harmed the soul. It was one of the few natural ways of doing so without diving into the dark arts. While Harry wasn't keen to listen to the old man much anymore. He couldn't shake the weight of that concept.

Surely this wasn't cold blooded murder though? Harry tried to rationalize within himself.

The phoenix-wand trembled in Harry's hand as the appendage lost its composure. Wiping his face with his free hand, Harry tried to collect his thoughts.

"I'm alive. The year is 1977. I've just murder- no, defended myself against someone who would have conducted human experiments on me and Merlin knows how many other innocents," Harry thought frantically.

Attempting to regain his composure, Harry slowed his breathing down. He had once again been more lucky than skilled and walked away from it. How much longer would this last? It couldn't, he thought grimly.

Eventually something had to give and it would be his life if the course remained this way. Looking around the destroyed room, Harry could see that he would glean no more information from about any way to go forward in time.

Harry was stuck in 1977 in the middle of the First Wizarding War. A tear escaped from his eyes. His friends…Ginny, and his infant godson, Teddy Lupin rose like specters in his mind. Harry wouldn't see them again as they were…if he ever met them in this timeline, he wouldn't be Harry Potter by that point. The famous Boy-Who-Lived or the Chosen One. Let alone anyone that they'd even know.

His previous life was officially dead to him for all purposes.

Harry's gaze moved around the room. There was no possible way to clean the proverbial and literal mess that he had made. Half of what was damaged went beyond repair and that wasn't even accounting for the missing employee the Ministry would inevitably search for.

With his search for answers complete. Harry proceeded to maneuver his way through and back out the Department of Mysteries, out of the Ministry, and back to Diagon Alley with more problems on his mind than he entered the Time room with.

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Inside Potter manor, Charlus Potter, the Lord Potter, sat in his study, staring at the family ring resting upon his hand. The family heirloom had been passed down through generations; the ring had been updated, altered, even one time during the 1600s destroyed and remade. It had never faltered a single family head till now.

The ring felt conflicted upon Charlus's hand like the magic was serving him and another.

It was of simple craft. It was a plain gold band, red gold stone embedded with the family motto 'Forctis Fortis', Stout & Brave shining on top. The Potters were always a simple family amongst the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

The elder Potter could still assert his influence over the ring and wrangle the family magic which controlled much of the wards and other assets to the family name. However, it was like pulling a rock from the earth. There was an unseen force like gravity offering resistance.

Charlus had heard of rings performing this way when they were given over to a proxy-lord by Noble and Ancient families during times of great unrest.

Charlus had practically run away to fight on the continent against Grindelwald to escape Lord Parkinson's constant nagging about how the Black family ring was attempting to murder him in his sleep at night when he had been a proxy for the illustrious family.

"It's odd," Charlus thought. The magic had accepted him earlier, so why not now? What was so special about yesterday's sunrise?

The door to his study opened, permitting his wife, Dorea Potter, formerly known as Dorea Black to enter the room to accost her husband.

"Charlus, darling, would you stop staring at that old thing? Your sight is already retreating and I'd rather not have to take you to St. Mungo's to fix another case of you becoming cross-eyed," Dorea nagged.

She had woken up to her husband staring and fiddling with that infernal ring in bed yesterday morning. She was now tempted to cut the thing from his finger and leave it in a box for Jamie.

Charlus looked up at his wife and smiled. "Sorry my love, It's just this blasted thing, it's been fighting me since yesterday and I don't know why…James didn't confondo me into making him lord again did he?" Her husband asked with wide eyes of fear.

His reputation still hadn't recovered from that particular fiasco. Nothing could've prepared the Wizengamot for that dreadful day when a thirteen year old James Potter entered the chambers, being recognized by the magic to hold a standing vote during one winter eve while he was on holiday from Hogwarts. The annoying twinkle of a smile had never left Dumbledore's face the entire time and his friend Arcturus's scowl was more plastered than usual during those meeting's drawn out affairs.

Dorea's smile broke out into full laughter at the question. Only her husband or son could make the stoic Lady Potter laugh as much as she did.

"No dear, James didn't confondo you this time. He's been too busy sneaking out again and even young Sirius doesn't know where he is going," Dorea grumbled.

Charlus could hear the hidden statement though.
"But you do I'm assuming?" he asked with a grin.

"Of course I do! You silly man, James may think he's being sneaky with that old family cloak of yours but a mother always knows when her boy is being involved with a girl," Dorea smirked in mirth.

Lord Potter's eyes widened at his wife's observation. He had known that James had been barking up a proverbial tree and having a pinecone tossed at his head often enough for his troubles when it came to one classmate of his, a certain Ms. Evans. But to think the lad actually managed to win the girl over was something else.

"That lad is either going to get the girl, or the grandfather of all stalking charges brought up against him," Charlus grumbled.

His head falling into his hands. However, his attention was once again back on the ring much to Dorea's chagrin. Her smile dropped immediately at the sight of it.

Charlus was an old man now compared to his youth when he was on the Continent fighting in a war. Signing up to battle a Dark Lord at the young age of nine-teen after his father, Fleamont Potter was killed during a duel against the famous Gellert Grindelwald. He hadn't lasted more than a few minutes at best. Grindelwald had personally sent the family ring back to Charlus with a note announcing his duel with his father, and Fleamont's death.

"Could it possibly be a long lasting curse placed back then on the ring by Grindelwald that was only activating now?" Charlus thought. Dorea, his wife, snapped Charlus from his thoughts once again.

"Charlus if the ring isn't responding to you like it should, then that could mean one of very few things. Since Minister Minchum isn't banging down your door about James putting forward half-cocked legislation involving werewolf liberties again, that list drops down further," Dorea explained.

Charlus and Dorea's eyes both moved across to the wall holding the family tapestry.

Above their names rested Charlus's father, Fleamont Potter. Below their names rested their only son James Fleamont Potter. The Potter line had been dwindling for decades now with concurrent single births since the early 18th century. There were few if no branch lines left on the family tree. The outer branches looked sickly and dead in their weavings.

However off to the side of James was a white opaque burn which wasn't there the last time they looked upon the family history. It bore no name nor features of who occupied the place on the tree. As if magic itself was denying the recording.

"Something is at play now Dorea, my dear. I'll have to get to the bottom of it if not for Jamie's sake." Charlus declared.

His wife nodded her head. She had never known a tapestry to act the way theirs was. Even the extensive one of the Blacks bearing its many branches and burn marks recorded any and all information on the blood line. She'd have to approach her brother, Arcturus the Lord Black about this issue. The man knew close to everything there was about tapestries.

Unbeknownst to the Potters, in his own study in Grimmauld's place Arcturus Black was glaring down at his own family ring dealing with the very same conundrums.

---

The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black was one of the most affluent families in all of Wizarding Britain.

The family had been devastated by the rise and campaign of Grindelwald though, with more than a few family members joining the charismatic man during his campaign against the muggles and wizards who opposed him. Several prominent members such as Cygnus II, Sirius II, Pollux, and Cassiopeia Black had supported the Dark Lord leaving bloody wakes across Europe in their own rights.

With a new crop of upcoming witches and wizards in the Black family nearing the end of their education at Hogwarts. The duty, pride, and faith of the family being placed uniquely on each' s shoulders.

Bellatrix Black, was the oldest of her three sisters. She was to attend her final year at Hogwarts alongside her rambunctious and often misguided cousin, Sirius. While her younger sister Andromeda was sixth year behind her, and her youngest sister Narcissa was in her fourth year with Sirius's brother, Regulus.

Regulus Black, the heir apparent now since his brother Sirius had been banished by his mother, Walburga was a quiet boy. Preferring the company of the house elf, Kreacher and his books rather than others.

Grimmauld Place was a dark household even on the best of days. The family lived under their head and Lord Black, Arcturus. A man who had seen his family be nearly torn apart by a Dark Lord and was watching history repeat itself.

Many of the older generation in the Black family were either too young to remember the war or were born after the conflict. However, everyone felt the economic hit that the country had taken in the post-war years. With muggle and wizarding Britain attempting to rebuild itself and support its fading empire.

The families' already bigoted view upon muggles and muggle-borns was darkened and enraged even further from the damage of the German war machine which bombed London for years on end, while anger also persisted at muggle-borns who were ruining the pure bloodlines through marriage. Forcing more and more wizards into conceding their traditions politically with laws and legislation in a form of compromise with the newly minted members of their society.

Strained inside and out, the family was set on the brink of implosion. Sirius, named after his grandfather who supported Grindelwald, was already blown off the family tree by his mother, Walburga Black for one too many defiances to the family honor; banished from the family entirely. A fear that Bellatrix silently held back from expressing for herself with her own minor infractions.

Compliance was not a hereditary trait any of the Blacks were born with but it was one instilled within them since their first conscious moments. For some the lessons stuck better than others.

Bellatrix spent most of her time within the family's extensive library, learning and practicing the Black family magic. The witch was a natural with the curses and held a slight sadistic streak in her when left unchecked. Bellatrix's hold on magic was just as beautiful as her stunning dark looks.

She was by all the standards of witches, a beautiful woman. The envy of many in her house and the whole of Hogwarts. Her dark curls cascading down her back when allowed to rest free. Her body lithe and athletic from her dueling training with her grandfather. She was by all means a menace and prodigy with her wand but Bellatrix had yet to land a blow that would topple the Lord Black.

Footsteps alerted Bellatrix to her approaching company. The small figure of her youngest sister, Narcissa appeared from the doorway of the library looking at her older sister hesitantly.

"Bella, Auntie Walburga wants us to gather in the parlor room. There is a family meeting," the younger Black sister reported, almost dutifully. Bella looked up from the family grimoire, eyeing her sister. She loved Cissy, the young girl being absolutely everything that was the epitome of what a pureblood lady should be. Bellatrix was disappointed that her little sister's magical talents would be wasted in a political marriage. It was another fear she held for herself.

"And what does Grandfather have to say about that? Last time Auntie tried calling a family meeting by herself, he threatened to bind her magic and leave her for the muggles outside," Bellatrix said with a smirk. She always enjoyed being with Grandfather when he finally saw fit to lash out at those who angered him.

Her Aunt had been overstepping her station for years now. Her husband Uncle Orion, while being the heir, possessed no spine to speak of. Bellatrix and her sisters were told often to be respectful and obedient wives for their future husbands yet Walburga was the antithesis to that model.

"He doesn't know," Cissy whispered quietly. Bella's eyebrow raised at the answer. An uncalled meeting was never a good affair in the Black household. It was in a meeting just like this when the family had been told of cousin Sirius's disinheritance without consulting Grandfather.

Closing the tome and nodding at Narcissa. Bellatrix rose and went to meet with the rest of the family inside the parlor.

Bellatrix walked into the parlor to an already bickering argument. Her younger sister, Andromeda was in a fury, face red and eyes filled with venom at their Aunt Walburga. Her younger sister's body posed like a snake waiting to strike the woman at the first sign of weakness. However, Walburga was a glacier, cold, and unwelcoming as she stared down at her second born niece.

"It is a good match for you, Andromeda. You'll marry Rabastan Lestrange or else. You have a duty to perform for our house," Walburga all but growled from behind clenched teeth.

The woman had lost much of her beauty in recent years. It had begun when she had excommunicated her first born son from the family for refusing to do something asked of him at sixteen.

Her raven black hair the family was famous for was lighting and graying in various patches. Her face was lined with stress or age despite her being nowhere near old for a witch. Her eyes held a glint of the Black Madness that they all lived in fear of. Walburga had never been proficient at Occlumency to stave off the family's illness of the mind.

"No! I won't marry him! The boy is a cur and more beast than human with his inner cruelty. If you're attending for me to be caged with a womanizer then by all means he is the best match!" Andromeda countered.

Bellatrix sat mutely in a lounge chair across from her mother Druella, and father Cygnus II. The day that she had feared had arrived. She figured they were only discussing Andy's marriage at the moment because she was the first daughter within the room. She and Cissy would surely be next.

Her cousin, Regulus Black stood in the corner near his father Orion, who was trying to blend into the wallpaper behind him. Bella shook her head at the coward of a man. She knew that he still supported his son Sirius off the record. So he was capable of having rare moments of independence away from his wife's control. However, in times like these, he was just another yes-man.

"You silly girl! It is done! The contracts have been drawn up. All we need to do is sign them before your return to Hogwarts, and you shall spend this year with your engaged before he graduates with your sister," Walburga hissed. Her face mimicking a harpy of sorts from Greek wizard legends.

Walburga turned onwards to the other two daughters of her brother, Cygnus.
"Bellatrix, you shall marry the Lestrange heir, Rodolphus. Narcissa, you will be married to the Malfoy heir of Abraxas, Lucius. These are all 'good' marriages," Walburga stressed with a tone that brokered no further arguments.

Bellatrix swallowed down her dread and nodded her head. While Narcissa looked overjoyed, one would dare to say almost dreamily upon hearing of her betrothal.

"What about Regulus then? If you are betrothing Cissy at fourteen, surely you have a match lined up for your own son before your nieces?" Bellatrix asked, hoping that her tone didn't sound too indecent. Grasping for any potential debris from the situation to save her…surely Walburga wouldn't marry her nieces off before her own son, and now heir?

Walburga shook her head at her second misguided niece. "Regulus does not have a betrothed yet, he has another task to restore the honor and pride of the house than you three do,".

Regulus looked sickly at his mothers comment. His eyes never left the antique persian carpet on the floor.

"So he knows his task and he doesn't like it one bit" Bella deduced. What could her Aunt possibly ask a fourteen year old boy who looked like he wanted to jump in front of a hippogriff at that very moment?

Bellatrix decided for one more rally of teenage defiance against her banshee of an aunt.
"Are all our matches approved by Grandfather?" she asked.

Bellatrix hoped that she could practically physically summon the old man himself with that question but he had been locked in his study for days now muttering about his damn ring.

The room's temperature dropped several degrees at Walburga's anger towards her niece. If Uncle Orion wasn't already trying to blend into the wall, he was already very close to becoming the structure itself.

Bellatrix's parents couldn't look any of their daughters but Narcissa in the eyes. They knew how productive this meeting would be the moment she and Andy learned of their fates. However, it was extremely faux pas for an Ancient and Noble House to marry the youngest daughter before the older siblings. So the two girls had to be matched as well - almost like they were sacrifices for their sister's own match.

"Your grandfather will see the merit in the matches that I've gone through the trouble of making for you ungrateful girls. These are noble families with a worthy cause we should all be supporting," Walburga decreed.

No one in the room was misguided about the double meaning behind their aunt's words. Everyone knew that she was a fervent supporter of the new wave behind the Pureblood movement much to Grandfather's current dismay.

Bellatrix turned her own cold gaze onto her parents. "And you father? Mother? Do these matches for your daughters seem to be of merit and approval for you?" Bellatrix's eyes bore into her parents as they glanced at Walburga for a moment before nodding to their oldest daughter.

Walburga may have had Orion's balls in her purse but it couldn't be said she didn't have her brothers first. While her mother was the epitome of a doormat for her husband. In all their years of marriage, Druella had only ever argued with Cygnus about not providing a male heir for him.

With a hum and flare of her nostrils, Bellatrix removed herself from the lounge chair and stormed out of the room. Her skirts bellowed behind her as a draft entered from the open door. She had to confront her grandfather about this. There was no way she would marry a drooling Lestrange who couldn't tell his own wand from his manhood. The old man needed to get a rein on his daughter-in-law before Bellatrix did it for him.

However, time was not on her side. She and her sisters would be off to Hogwarts a month from now exactly when the contracts were expected to be signed. She needed to act fast.

---

Harry laid across his bed staring up at the ceiling of his rented room. His escape from the Department of Mysteries had been uneventful. Casting a disillusionment charm had been easy once he left the Department itself. The only difficult part had been finding an elevator in use that was empty enough for no one to bump into an invisible figure.

His foray had turned up more questions than he found answers to however, answers he had to find soon for his own wellbeing and now potentially the wizarding world as a whole.

Everything cluttered in Harry's mind. The voices from the Archway and veil, the discovery of the experiments the Unspeakables had been undergoing involving time and the realization he was here for good in 1977.

A fact that Harry was excited about but also putting up with a lot of self-hate for feeling so. Finally, the prophecy if it would still apply in this time period, and the issue of the twin-cores residing in his and Voldemort's wand. He needed a new one. Preferably without a trace and limiting enchantment. He'd have to fetch an illegal wand through nefarious means.

Harry knew of a very few places he could purchase a black market wand at. The only wandsellers he had known about were Ollivander and Gregorovitch. The latter had supplied Viktor Krum with his wand, and once possessed the Elder Wand before Grindelwald - "Wait! that's it. The Elder Wand," Harry thought.

In the previous timeline, Voldemort hunted the wand down in its history all the way to Dumbledore's grave to possess it in order to circumnavigate the issue of the twin-cores.

Gregorovitch had possessed the wand for a time Harry knew. The old wandmaker had been trying to replicate the properties of the wand into his own crafts. However, it was stolen by a young Grindelwald, something that the respected wandmaker had told Lord Voldemort before his own demise at the Dark Lord.

Perhaps he could prevent Tom from retrieving the wand this time. While he did not like Dumbledore much anymore, he didn't want to see the man murdered again.

Dumbledore had expressed how powerful the Hallows were and he had said Harry was capable of wielding the three legendary artifacts…he had already done it unknowingly.

But how was he going to get to Bulgaria to attempt to retrieve a new capable wand and start his quest for the Deathly Hallows?

He could attempt to apparate across the Continent but that would leave him potentially exhausted and dead from a nasty splinch in a ditch. Harry supposed he could use a broom or inquire about a portkey to the country.

For the second time that day, Harry supposed he was going back into the Ministry of Magic, hopefully this time albeit for a more legal purpose.

---

Harry was amazed at the ease of getting to Bulgaria from Britain.

Growing up isolated from the Wizarding World, with his only exposure being a few places outside of Hogwarts, Harry could see that magical Britain was quite insulated in many ways.

The wizard population of Britain wasn't one to mingle in affairs outside of their island despite the massive portion of the world that the muggle equivalent ruled over.

Harry had arrived at the Bulgarian wizarding district within Sofia. The district was alive with commerce and trade just like Diagon Alley was but potentially even more so. Wizards didn't dress with much dissimilarity on the Continent compared to Britain, Harry found. There were still a few figures out and about in muggle clothes.

Not knowing where the old wandmaker that he was seeking out was. Harry approached what appeared to be an auror standing guard to a postal shop with the messenger owls sitting in boxes lined along the outside.

"Excuse me sir, can you give directions to Gregovotich's wand shop?" Harry asked the man. The guard looked at Harry with disinterest, "Anglichanin," the guard said, nodding his head towards a side street lying just up ahead.

Harry nodded his thanks and went down the pointed way. However, it only led to a dead end that was a dis-apparation point. Feeling that he had been made the temporary fool of, Harry turned away and continued down the street. How hard could the old wandmaker be to find really?

The district had a plethora of culture that Harry had never seen. There was an influence of Greek, Celtic, Roman, Scythian, and Slavic cultures that Harry could see from passing glances. There were several wizards dressed in turbans and long flowing rich robes of silk from Turkey who were also managing carts and stores. One was offering discounts on flying carpets, a mode of transportation often ridiculed in Wizarding Britain but seemed to be booming everywhere else.

Several store and cart owners called out to Harry to come inspect their goods from what Harry discerned from their hand gestures and facial expressions. However, not wanting to part with too much of the gold that Albus had given him, he passed them by offering shakes of his head and polite apologies.

Finally coming across an old shack of a building, almost a condemned looking structure that leaned on its side at an interesting angle. It poked the recesses of Harry's memory…he had been here before? Finally it occurred to Harry, this is the building where the Dark Lord had confronted the old wand maker inside about the Elder Wand before murdering him.

Approaching and pushing the door to the shop open, Harry was greeted by a disaster of a store which made Ollivander's seem quite organized.

"One moment! I'll be out in a minute," a voice called out in Bulgarian. An old man who was getting on in years turned the corner coming from the back of a workshop. He was wearing dark robes but his sleeves were rolled up. Wood shavings were sprinkled and intermixed with his long tangled gray hair. The man looked like he was sleep deprived. Upon his wrist was a tattoo of a single line, looking almost eerily like the Elder wand, Harry noticed.

"Are you Gregovotich?" Harry asked, wanting to confirm that this was indeed the man he sought.

"Da, I am. And you are an Englishman?…We don't see your kind here. Ollivander is your preference for my craft. No one buys my wands from there…," Gregovotich said in suspicion, eyeing Harry up and down.

Harry nodded at the old man. He was beginning to think that the Bulgarian's weren't too keen on seeing anyone other than from Britain around. Pulling out his wand, he showed it to the wand maker who gave it an inquisitive look.

It wasn't everyday that the old wandmaker got to inspect his rival's works up close. Gregovotich took note of the wand crafting and nodded in appreciation at his counterpart's ingenious methods.

"My name is Evans, I purchased this from Ollivander, it's to my liking but I need one without a trace or limiting enchantment placed upon it. I was told you were the best alongside Garrick, so I came to see what you could offer," Harry said. The old wandmaker eyed the wand before him.

"Phoenix and holly…strange I would not have suspected such a light wand as such to partner you." Gregovotich met Harry's eyes, staring at him for a moment. "It is a good wand though you see. The core is loyal. It will do what you ask. Wait for the trace to be removed when you next visit your ministry upon coming of age. As of the limiting enchantments, no need to ever cast such dark curses…you'd corrupt such a treasure," the wandmaker said in distaste.

"Dark curses can corrupt a wand?" Harry asked. Gregovotich looked at the young man like he was a zoo animal who had done something interesting before him.

"Da, they are corruptible just like a wizard who steeps themselves too deep in the Dark Arts. Magic always has a price…It sometimes is borne by the wizard or their wand," stopping himself for a moment. The Bulgarian glanced down at Harry's wand for a moment. "It is good, no? Your wand is stronger than most…why the need for a new partner?" Gregovotich asked with suspicion.

"It has what Ollivander described as a twin running around, the one who holds it is a dark wizard so I'll always need a second wand," Harry explained the case of Priori Incantem but he was waved off by the old man.

"Bah! I know of the phenomenon, very rare, yes because we in the trade know not to make twins too often but it is not everyday one runs into two phoenix feathers," Gregovotich supposed, trying to rationalize why Ollivander would make two such wands.

"But you are not a dark wizard yourself, no? Despite your wand there is an aura about you…the wand you hold speaks of life, but your blood is a different tune. Your soul's song is more so…," the old man said slowly.

"I've only ever cast a few naturally dark spells…I've only ever killed directly once too," Harry admitted thinking about the fight in the Time Room; that is what qualified him as a dark wizard. He hadn't meant to kill the Unspeakable, he assumed the man would have been turned into a baby…instead he simply vanished into nothing.

Gregovotich shook his head at the young wizard before him, the poor boy obviously didn't get out much if that was his belief.

"No no, Dark Wizards are those who deal with blood and soul magic usually of nefarious purposes; there are some light spells that fall under this category as well which can qualify a dark wizard. They are simply put by the few wizards who surrender themselves to magic for a price but are led on by its corruptive nature," the prestigious wandmaker tried to clarify.

A Dark wizard was a subjective term after all.

"Ok, but what about my blood and soul?" Harry asked not wanting to get too far sidetracked. Gregovotich shook his head.

"I can smell a basilisk in you. It's overpowering…if not for your current wand I wouldn't sense the phoenix either in you -", the wandmaker took a moment to tune his magic in the air with a wave of his hand. "Your soul is different. It was ripped, but yet oddly still whole. There are but a few curses recorded in grimoires older than most of our countries today that could do such a thing…but the result would not be you." Gregovotich stated warily with a curious eye, looking over Harry as if the boy was about to explode in front of him.

"You can tell that just by smelling me and my blood?" Harry asked with a stunted look. The Wandmaker's eyebrows furrowed in a glare.

"I can sense the bonds you have with magical creatures through tuning my magic around you. All great wandmakers can do this, it is how I offer cores with wizards."

"Could you find a core for a wand for me in here then?" Harry asked once more, he needed a capable wand. His phoenix one would be a hindrance unfortunately in the fight to come.

"I can sell you a wand without the enchantments that bind you…but it is of course illegal to produce wands as such today. The craft is heavily regulated for this. However, I often come into wands who have lost their partners…to themselves, death, and time. You'll need to find an older wand," Gregovotich explained how the transaction would go. "This is how it is done you see. I cannot make you a wand that will accept you, you need to have one bond to you. The method can siphon off your magic completely or it could be harmless."

Binding to an older wand was a dangerous affair if the person wasn't related by blood or magic to the original owner. Wands were fickle things of magical sentience.

"If the other wands have the enchantments removed then there is a process to undergo for the new ones to remove them after they are made though right?" Harry asked stubbornly, holding up his phoenix-core wand.

The old wandmaker shook his head at Harry. "No. It is a foolish endeavor. Only extremely powerful witches and wizards can remove the enchantments placed upon them in any sort of safety. The runes are intentionally made to be hazardous to the offenders of the law. The only way to safely remove the opposing enchantments is through goblin magic, but best wishes for trying to convince one to do such a thing for you," The wandmaker smirked.

Like a sack of galleons, the reasoning for Griphook's insistence on the price for his silence, hit Harry over the head. "A goblin took my wand!"

Gregovotich cocked an eyebrow at the accusation. "I'd be unshocked if one did. They are some of the biggest sellers in the black markets for illegal wands. Good quality wands with no limiting runes are seldom and rare finds. Any wands produced without them are usually from a back alley mass production and will last a week or so at best before the core burns out. Their cores and wood are subpar to the more hardy material that those legitimate in the trade use. If the goblin saw a way to snatch your wand. It'd do so for the profit if not for the prospect of a wizard using it to harm another wizard later on as well," the wand maker nodded.

"So that's how dark wizards would get the wands they need…through either buying it from or extorting a goblin over it?" Harry understood better how the capable wands were around for those with less savory means.

He was curious why the goblin would need his wand…but more it explained how some of the Death Eaters would have done the evil deeds they did in his timeline if these laws were in place that prevented wands sold legally from casting dark spells. They all had second wands.

"Not Voldemort though, he would have been too prideful to use another wand," Harry thought grimly, knowing the man would have still found a way to use his wand from Ollivander.

Tom Riddle would have found a way around the runes for himself and a few favored followers potentially. All the more reason he needed the same advantage they all had in not having an arm tied behind his back for combat when he faced them.

"How could I assure you that it won't be used maliciously and nefariously?" Harry implored the old wand maker.

Gregovotich stared deeply into Harry's eyes inspecting the young man's character. Harry was expecting an attack of Legilimency but the intrusion never came. The old man nodded only once.

"Hmm, you have the aura of a protector around you…I can sense the sacrifice…," Gregovotich mumbled, looking over at the wizard. He could sense several interesting things around Harry through magic.

It was never a precise art, interspection with wandlore. However, it was often more right than others wished to give credit to. Wandmakers were like seers, seeing too much of something they naught but they simply peered at what was before them rather than in the vortex of time.

"Light…but dark…protector…shield…formerly peaceful but changed to violence by jealousy, a deep seeded fear of inferiority," the old wandmaker stated quite surely like he was reading off from a list in front of him.

The old man's eyes which held a mad glint looked completely crazed now, however their pits were a certainty within the dark and enclosed store. The old man retreated into the back of his workshop and approached carrying an old wand box. It looked like it had seen a century or two from the dust covering and decaying wood.

"This will do you," Gregovotich said plainly with no elaboration.

Harry, being used to having wands shoved in his hands by Ollivander and ripped out seconds later, took the box gingerly. Opening the lid there was the wand housed inside a bed of black silk that was untouched by time it seemed.

The length was eleven inches like his phionex-wand. The wand was carved from a white birch, almost alabaster in color except for its darkened tip, appearing like it was held over a fire. Black tendrils slowly creeped down the white wood from the black tip like an infection till the growth stopped at the middle of the wand, as if going any further was violation. The dark lines looked like electrical burns to Harry's eyes. The handle was encased in a fine silver ornate pattern with a base of a dark black stone.

The tendrils weren't cosmetic though. Harry could sense the dark magic emanating from the wand tip. Like the Dark Mark hovering over a murder scene, it brought a sense of foreboding if inspected too closely. The wand had once been purely benevolent it seemed, but it had since done dark deeds and seen more malicious occurring's.

"What's the core?" Harry was curious about the magical medium's workings.

"Two pieces. First is the hair of a Gorgon, plucked from the head of one somewhere in Ancient Greece if rumor is to be believed. Then the dark stone in the handle is the focusing stone for the stronger magic, however it is not a mere stone but the eye of a gorgon as well. It is a method that is forgotten by most modern wandmakers, styles of this wand went out of favor several centuries ago," the wandmaker explained.

Having never seen a focus stone embedded into the handle of a wand before, Harry inspected it closely. The gorgon's eye was a pitch of dark black with a purple and greenish hue highlight reflecting off of its smooth surface.

"Why has the practice fallen out of favor?" asked Harry, careful not to touch the wand yet as it lay unassuming in its silken bed.

"The more powerful the wand, the worse the corruption is for the wand and the easier for it to overwhelm the mind of the wizard if they are not competent with the mental arts. This is known to all wandmakers with no exceptions besides that of the Elder Wand," Gregovotich answered plainly, obviously uncomfortable himself around the magical piece.

"If it's been used before, what is the wand's history?" Harry asked, thinking of the Elder Wand's own bloody handed history across the centuries. He didn't want to walk away with an object that'd just paint another target on his back for someone to try him for.

"This wand itself was last used fully by a noble woman some several centuries ago if what I researched is true. She was a courtesan with a penchant for mind control and torture in the court of the last Byzantine Emperor, Constantine XI." both men eyed the wand speculatively as if the tale wasn't entirely truthful but who could validate the claim? Gregovotich continued with the wand's supposed story.

"It is believed she cursed the wand leaving it for the Ottomans to find before throwing herself from a high tower in the Sacred Palace as they butchered their way through Constantinople in 1453. It is a haunting piece brought here by a Turk some hundred-sixty years or so ago now to my father before me. The Grand Vizier to the Sultan of the Ottomans at the time Yusuf Ziya Pasha, also known as the Blind by his people," the wand maker recounted the tale. "He brought the wand to my father to inspect. Yusuf believed it cursed as it had just been held by three of his successors who all either took their own life or saw great misfortune befall them. He left it in our care not wanting to return the item to court for its potential dangers," Gregovotich elaborated on the final touches of the wand's lore.

Staring down at the birch-wand, Harry could feel its luring siren call. There was an itch somewhere in him that was longing for him to pick up the wand - as if it was the cure for all his troubles.

"That could just be the curse," Harry thought to himself in trepidation. Deciding against what should have been his better judgment, Harry found he could not resist the lull from the gorgon-wand.

Harry lifted the wand from its home for the last century and a half, holding it before him. As his fingers wrapped around the handle he was immediately assaulted by a cold magic invading his system just as soon though the magic spread through him began to warm till he felt blistering hot like it was cooking him from the inside out.

Gregovotich watched as the wand adapted to its new handler. The Bulgarian wandmaker had never believed that wizard took to being the master of a wand, something that had only solidified after he had possessed the legendary Death Stick and felt the shrewdness burrowed within its own wood.

Wands were partners and they needed to be treated as such. Something that this young man understood based on his relationship with the holly-wand bearing a phoenix feather.

The magic stopped assaulting Harry's senses and soon the wand sat simply in his hand with no more occurrences.

"Aha! The bonding has taken hold! The wand will allow you to use it…but it seems to be bartering for conditions?" Gregovotich turned his head in questioning. The wandmaker leaned closely to the wand as if the two were sharing a secret.

"Conditions from a wand to be used?" Harry asked, thinking eerily of the Elder Wand's own terms, Harry wasn't fancying a trip to Turkey some time today.

Gregovotich nodded. His expression had turned from a mad glinting giddy to a solemn and serious.

"While this wand is willing to do the most vile of magic…more than willing it seems. It will only do so on specific conditions. You must not corrupt it further; it will not tolerate any abuse from the one who holds it," Gregovotich stated firmly but did not further elaborate on what constituted abuse.

The wandmaker looked like he was listening to a whisper, like friends would pass along silently pushed together in class with the wand still. "Gorgons are despised and reviled creatures but they are guardians from evil if what little we know of the magical creatures is to be believed. They were hunted to near extinction sometime in the early Middle ages according to most magizoologist."

Harry looked down at the gorgon-wand in questioning.

"Like a basilisk, a gorgon can also petrify of sorts with just a glance. That is why it is a good magical match for you, it feels that within your blood. But it senses your will to drive an evil from a land…that is what sealed the bond. You shall combat an evil with another's…but you cannot lose yourself to the abyss that it will lead you towards. You wield a dark wand my new friend, beware of its volatile nature. It bears a curse for any who would misuse it again… perhaps that is what the Vizier spoke of? It will not take kindly to being wielded unjustly. It will petrify your enemies in its wake and strike fear into evil but it will poison you just as easily." Gregovotich warned the young wizard before him.

The wand may be docile at the moment in the boy's hands, but Gregovotich could almost see the wand's past within the wood itself. The blackened tip spoke of casting a dark spell so corruptive, it almost overturned the protective trait of the gorgon within. Its creeping black tendrils spoke of the everlasting effects it had upon the wand to this day.

Harry waved the wand above his head casting the spell that had always been familiar with him and the spark to go on that he needed at times. "Expecto Patronum!" the young man chanted.

The silver stage exploded from the wand feeling just as warm as ever. It was just as it always had been. The Bulgarian shook his head at the display.

"No, no. Blah! A dark wand will not prevent you from casting a light spell if that is what you are checking for foolish Englishmen. It is up to the wizard what spell he may cast, the wand will simply conduct the magic as it sees fit for the wizard.

That struck a memory from his escape from Privet Drive within Harry, wanting to know more about what his phoenix-wand did that night he questioned Gregovotich.

"What if it wasn't up to the wizard though? What if a wand cast unrequested upon its own as soon as it saw its foe?" Harry asked. Describing to Gregovotich how his hand had spun in his hand and met a Dark Lord that night when six others had taken on his identity to confuse the Death Eaters.

The old wandmaker raised his chin in thought. "It would have had to be a familial wand which we already know it was…knowing its enemy through the magic of blood. Blood magic is binding and none can hide from it. The wizard who attacked you was bound to you in some way, not even using another wand would protect them from such notice. Your wand recognized the affront to take your blood and responded as just at the perpetrator," Gregovotich explained slowly, hoping he had interpreted the boy correctly.

It was an interesting study. He never much developed a use for blood magic in his craft as it often led to undetermined outcomes with wands.

"Blood magic is an unknown art. There are no casual practitioners. Only those who are steeped in the lore would be able to answer for a certainty…but it seems your prior wand and perhaps the new one you bare would do the same if such was to occur again."

"A wand is always simply just a wand, an extension of thy arm…until there is certain magic involved. Then it is anything but simply a wand…" the wandmaker whispered almost sagely like he was sharing a deep secret of the cosmos.

Harry was lost at the wand maker's explanation but did not dare to ask for a more clarifying response. The profession was a hidden art in the wizarding world for a reason and he wasn't entirely sure Gregovotich would grant him one.

Holding out the gorgon hand Harry inspected it further. Harry pictured the gorgon of his cores within his head. It was a snarling dark creature with golden scales for skin, and the head of weaving snakes from every spectrum of color. It was an unusual creature to carve a core from a wand for sure.

The wand was warm yet tempered by a fierce cold. Like one would feel on a chilly winter night when the soft rain would be blown in your face at a slight wind. The ability to chill down to the bone with the slightest touch. It was a beautiful wand in its own dark way.

"Be gone now. Tell no one how you came to such a wand. If you must, lie still. It'd turn out better for you," Gregovotich said fiercely, tired of the young man before but greatly happy he was leaving his shop with such an item.

Harry made to leave but stopped himself, turning back to the old wandmaker who he had witnessed murderering behind the eyes of Lord Voldemort.

"Mr. Gregovotich, the Elder Wand. What did you learn from it?" Harry asked, wondering just how far the man's research into the Deathstick had been when he shortly possessed it before Grindelwald.

Gregovotich's demeanor turned cold at the question, the old man appeared to age, shaving a few years off his life span when he heard the 'the Elder Wand' leave Harry's lips.

"Like I said, Mr. Evans. A wand is a wand until there is certain magic involved…Then it is anything but a simple wand. Your new wand though, trust in it. It will not fail you like the phoenix-wand, It will strike true if you keep your word - now be gone,"

Harry nodded at the request. Thinking of the famous wandmaker's parting words. Leaving the famous wand makers shop and the country all together soon afterward.

---

The aging Lord Black stared across at his eldest granddaughter with a hard stern stare, a look that had sent other Wizengamot lords and even Dark Lords backing away in fear for their lives at one time or another.

To say the Arcturus Black was anything but intimidating was a severe understatement.

The man had led his family through the debacle that was Grindelwald's campaign against muggles and the rest of the wizarding world. He had served time in the British Expeditionary Forces himself under the IWC. Upon returning, he had brought fortune, respect, and prestige to the failing house he was born into.

Arcturus was made in the image of a Black but the family now very much bore his image upon its face.

"Your aunt is an absolute cunt of a woman," Arcturus growled at Bellatrix. His anger spiking at the gall of the woman who married his first born son.

Bellatrix had all but barged into his study while he was looking over the family ring. The damn artifact had tried to take his life several times over the last few days while he was considering family business.

The artifact had thrown a visceral fit the other night. Taking control of his hand to grab a letter opener to slice his own throat upon considering accepting an introduction sent to him by someone named Riddle. Arcturus had taken to wearing it around his neck on an enchanted chain after that nearly fatal mishap.

Learning that his granddaughters were being sold off like cattle instead of the gems they were. Arcturus considered the possibility of claiming his daughter-in-law's head to mount it like the stuffed house elves on the wall overlooking the staircase.

"You married for love grandfather, you've always said you would approve of our matches first. The Lestrange brothers are more inbred than we are! Cissy may be smitten with her suitor but me and Andy deserve better!" Bellatrix hissed at the old man, pleading her case with his bleeding heart for the family.

Bellatrix knew that she'd have to play off her grandfather's emotions to garner him to her side. She knew something like wanting to marry for love would thaw the normally frigid lord.

The man was stone to anyone but the few in the family that he held a flame for. Arcturus nodded at his granddaughter.

"Yes, and it thankfully worked out. While the matches given out have some benefit…they are not for our house exclusively. They serve to further your aunt's ambitions...some of which have no place in this family. Nor will they ever again," the Lord Black growled.

He knew exactly of the pureblood movement Walburga was trying to align the family towards. These matches were politically aimed at just that, there was nothing that the Lestrange family could offer what the Blacks did not already possess.

While Arcturus had nothing against the ideals of the Pureblood movement, it was the methodology of the other families he disagreed with. He was hearing rumblings and coveted whispers in the dark places of wizarding kind about from some Dark Lord in the recent years.

"I can rip up the contracts, but eventually she'll have her way, you know girl. She'll marry you off the minute you step back through this door if she doesn't before you leave for school."

Bellatrix nodded. "I'm not against the idea of marriage, Grandfather but I want this to be on my terms like you had. I may not be an heiress but I am still a Black. This is my right, is it not?"

Her grandfather snorted at his granddaughter's wit. He could see through her argument. She wouldn't be pleading this case nearly as loudly if it was potentially anyone other than Rodolphus Lestrange she was being offered to.

Bellatrix was right of course, she was a Black so any marriage to another family would be a downgrade for them in a sense, Arcturus noted.

"I think I should just toss you in with Sirius and save myself the headache girl. However, you'd murder the boy before the ceremony would even take place and I'd rather not have Regulus bear the burden of the heir."

Upon mention of the heir, she eyed the ring hovering around her grandfather's neck, Bellatrix could see the Black Family crest depicted clearly on the dark purple jewel. It was a beautiful piece that Bellatrix was saddened by the fault of never being allowed to inherit it and all its powers.

"So you are going to make that deviant and outcast the heir then, I was hoping Uncle Alphard had been jesting," scoffed Bellatrix. However, Arcturus's eyes resumed their natural glare.

"That boy may be uncouth and non-deserving of his pending lordship at the moment. But he is to be just that. Sirius will deserve, and outright demand your respect, girl. He is a better choice than his spineless father. Besides it's already been done,"

Bellatrix's face could not hide her shock. When had the man done this and without anyone in the family being wiser?

Seeing her expression, Arcturus grinned. "Do you think your Aunt could just banish the boy with no repercussions? She wanted him gone…I assured he would never be able to leave. The boy is better than she gives him credit for that's for sure," the Lord Black declared.

Arcturus went back to inspecting the family ring around its chain.

"Do not worry about your aunt. I'll deal with the harpy in my own time soon. Hell, perhaps I should hand her the lordship and have the ring kill her. She wouldn't last an hour with its current behavior…" Arcturus considered the idea in mirth, there was some merit to it indeed.

"Bring matches to me by Christmas for Andromeda and you, Bella. I shall approve them regardless of your parents wishes and we'll lock your Aunt out of her scheming. You girls won't have to worry about the Lestranges till you get to Hogwarts at least. Now leave me, there is much I need to do for a visitor later and you're due for a trip to the Alley with your sisters soon."

Bowing low in respect as taught to her, Bellatrix exited the room with a grace of her robes. She had successfully brokered a delay and potential reprieve from the ghastly prospect of sharing a marriage bed with Rodolphus Lestrange. However, now she had the daunting task of finding someone to replace her Aunt's machinations with. Hopefully, Andromeda would be successful in this endeavor as well. She knew her sister had a current fascination with a muggle-born, which wouldn't do anyone any good. Regardless, it was the making of an interesting Christmas break to be had this year.

Harry returned to the Leaky Cauldron with his new wand tucked up his sleeve. The Gorgon wand was within his robes, while his phoenix wand was hidden, tucked into the back pocket of his trousers.

He could practically hear the ghost of Alastor Moody berating him for the foolish hiding spot of his second wand, but he had nowhere else to hide the secondary wand at the moment with another holster. He'd just have to be careful about not lighting his ass on fire till then.

Upon his arrival the barkeep had handed Harry a letter from Dumbledore about filling out which O.W.L.s he wanted to take so he could coordinate his last year at Hogwarts. The old headmaster had signed off on Harry taking them in two days time at the Ministry with two test examiners.

He now had business to conduct in Diagon Alley. Harry needed to send a response to Dumbledore but more importantly he needed to find a way to advance his education beyond what he would learn at Hogwarts.

He needed spells, he needed tactics, he needed knowledge, but most importantly he needed to learn how to properly defend himself and fight back.

His fight in the Department of Mysteries had been a victory Harry had once again stumbled into…

Just like his first year when he stopped Quirrell from retrieving the Soccerer's Stone, only to be saved by Dumbledore.

Just like in second year when he killed a basilisk, only to be saved by Fawkes from the serpents poison.

Just like in third year when he and Hermione were chased by a full grown werewolf, only to be saved by Buckbeak at the last moment.

Just like in fourth year when he had been transported to the graveyard by Voldemort's scheme, only to be saved by the spirits of his previous murders.

Just like in fifth year when he and his friends entered the Department of Mysteries tricked by Death Eaters, only to be saved by the Order of the Phoenix.

Just like in sixth year when he was pulled into the cold black lake by the dead, only to be saved by a weakened Dumbledore.

However in his seventh year there had been no one to save him in the end…he had died instead.

No More," Harry thought. "It can't be any of those ever again,"

This time he couldn't afford that luxury. He needed to be better than he was before. He had to be able to stand alone when Voldemort would finally realize the danger that he was and came for him.

Since he was eleven, Harry had been a foolish naive child playing soldier when it had always been a real war. Harry knew that the interlude between 1981 and 1994 wouldn't last. He lived and saw every moment of the second rise of Voldemort. The psychopath couldn't be allowed to do any of that this time.

Harry knew the toll that would be extracted if he allowed Voldemort to continue this time.

His parents…Sirius…Cedric…Remus…Tonks…Fred…Snape…Dumbledore…how many more that Harry didn't even know the names to?

Harry knew he wouldn't find the kind of book he was looking for in Flourish & Bott's though. He'd need to go down into Knockturn Alley to retrieve a spell book on the more unsavory combat oriented spells he'd need to combat Voldemort.

He'd potentially find something at Borgin & Burke's but Harry didn't hold his breath for the store owners to sell anything to him. Harry knew just exactly who and what their clients were like. Harry unfortunately didn't fit that description.

Harry needed to also fetch his school supplies, new robes so he could dump the transfigured pair Dumbledore had made for him, and finally some supplies he'd need like wand holsters which Auror's had been known to use.

With his bag of gold from Gringotts shrunken on his person, Harry made his way into Diagon Alley from the Leaky Cauldron. It was to be an eventful day, Harry supposed.

---

After Harry his errands at Madam Malkins, whose seamstress shop was still just as popular in this time as it was in the future. He made an effort to get potion supplies knowing he'd probably have Slughorn again as a professor since the heavy-set man mentioned mentoring his mother in the past.

Crossing the alley in front of the The Magical Menagerie though was not something Harry had intended to do. Staring at all the owls in their cages in the store's windows, Harry felt a pang in his chest. Hedwig. His owl companion during all those long summers at the Dursleys had been a welcome respite from the treatment of his family, she had been gone for over a year now he supposed in a way.

Shaking his head at getting a new owl or familiar currently, he moved on. Harry just felt like it was too soon though, as if going inside to purchase a new owl would be dishonoring the memory of the only friend had during those isolated terrible summers; away from everything magical that he loved.

Moving on, Harry entered Flourish & Botts to purchase his schoolbooks, and potentially find a tome that could aid him in the future. Browsing his list for school books, he collected the sets rather quickly. However finding a book on magical combat proved easier than imagined.

Holding a copy of 'Dueling, Do's & Don't's' by a world class duelist at the time, named Creon Renault. The author wrote competently enough Harry judged as he glossed over a few pages, while this would teach him a bit of what he needed, it was regardless still not a viable source of learning the spells he sought.

Harry remembered Remus chastizing him for disarming Stan Shunpike instead of taking the imperiused man out of the fight. "If you aren't prepared to kill then at least use a stunner," The old werewolf chastised the young Harry. Yet, even stunners weren't enough.

Harry didn't want to blast people away back then believing it made him too much like Lord Voldemort, ironically he was already like the man with the piece of his soul within him.

For a moment the gorgon-wand felt like a weight within his robes. How close could he get to being like Voldemort before losing himself? Voldemort may not be directly affecting his soul anymore but could Harry do what needed to be done and protect what was left from the influence the man had over him? He hoped so.

Checking out the books that he picked up, Harry put them within a trunk he purchased earlier to carry his thing, shrinking the trunk down to fit within his pocket.

Harry made his way to Knockturn Alley searching for another store where he could make his more discreet purchases. Walking down the darker aligned alley was an interesting affair for Harry. Most of the occupants of the degrading alley were usually tied to less than savory business. A few witches tried to entice Harry over to them while a few wizards eyed Harry warily from the shadows themselves.

Soon Harry found himself in front of a bookshop that was a ways from the entrance to Knockturn. The sign hanging in front of the building read, Yescaholdt's.

Pushing the door open, Harry's arrival was heralded by a small bell. The shop was smaller than Flourish & Bott's, lacking many of the shelves that the more acclaimed store possessed. The shelves were lined with many books, tomes, and even a few grimores all chained to the shelves with iron.

A small black Kneazle watched Harry curiously from the sales counter. Its eyes are a mismatch of blind white and vibrant blue. Looking around, Harry couldn't tell where the owner of the shop could possibly be.

Browsing the shelves, Harry saw a few names that looked familiar, Magick Moste Evile by Godelot was on display, potentially a first edition if the age of the Tome was anything to go by. While Harry knew he needed a book on dark magic, perhaps there should be a limit of what he looked into.

However none of the books he glossed through seemed to jump out at him. He found several texts from around the world, from creating dark curses, to binding magical creatures to his whims, and finally a book that dove deep into the art of Necromancy.

Shaking his head at the evergrowing pile of books he'd rather not devote time to for the preservation of his own sanity. Harry almost gave up his search. Till he saw an old green bound book hiding behind several on a shelf.

It was old and bound what Harry knew to exactly be Basilisk skin. The feel of which brought back memories that sent flames up where his arm bore the wound from the monster's fang. Killing Slytherin's monster had hands down the stupidest yet still greatest of his achievements to date potentially.

The book bore a simple plain title embedded into the leather with what appeared to be bone, Sayre. Opening the green book, Harry looked down at the text.

'My Dear Niece, If you are reading this then I've either passed on or decided to retreat from the world. I will not apologize for my actions regarding your foolish mistake but you are the last of my house. My father's name shall live on in you. While I never did my duty to my inherited name by bearing children, I shall do so in preparing you and any other descendants you pass this on to.
I have compiled this journal for you holding within it all I know. All my magic, my will, and ambitions for our family. If you consider this atonement then that is for you. I am simply performing what I believe best for our bloodline. Inside you will find magic that few can perform, wield, or even bear to study. You are of my blood. You will be able to study these magics because you will be an accomplished witch for our blood is a great thing.

Gormlaith,
1627

Looking through the rest of the book Harry saw summoning spells, a way to control Fiendfyre, potion recipes, and even some dark spells which were clearly used to curse entire blood lines.

The instruction on how to control fiendfyre was enough to convince Harry. He had no intention of using the sword to destroy horcruxes again, but there were only so many fangs in a basilisk's mouth after all.

Approaching the counter where the Kneazle sat with its long ears pointed up still intently watching Harry. The wizard placed the book down on the counter and looked around hoping whoever worked here was in so that he could make his purchase and leave.

Suddenly the Kneazle jumped down behind the counter, turning itself into a tall witch. Harry had been watched by an Animagus the entire time.

The witch had long flowing purple hair that spanned the entirety of her back. She stood a good head and half over Harry himself. Her eyes were the same dead white and electric blue of the Kneazle she was before. She wore a simple red dress with a black boots. Her wrists were adorned with what looked to be goblin silver circlets, and a sneakerscope was on a necklace sitting still against her bosom.

"Hello darling, welcome to Yesca's, find everything you need?" the witch purred down at Harry.

"Yes ma'am," Harry said blushing, pushing his purchase forward for her to check.

"Oh no, none of that. Just call me Yesca, dear. What do we have here?" Yesca said, picking up the book.

The shop owner frowned down at the journal in her hand, looking it over from front to back, she flipped through a few pages before glancing down at Harry.

"And you can read this?" She asked Harry with a questioning stare holding the book up.

Harry nodded but grimaced at the woman's comment. He had read the book's intro decently enough. He wasn't Hermione but he was still literate…

"Strange. Because I can't read a damn thing from this. It's in Parseltongue. All of it," Yesca informed, shaking the book in front of Harry's face.

Harry however was shocked. He had assumed he lost the ability to speak the magical language upon Voldemort separating his soul from the horcrux he unknowingly made in him. He hadn't found any snakes yet to test if he could speak it though as well.

"You don't look like a Gaunt. They were the last parselmouth speakers on the Isles," Yesca stated certainly while inspecting Harry's features. The lad couldn't be a grandson or something of Morfin, the crazy shit of a man he was. There wasn't a woman in the world that would let him touch them.

"No, I'm not a Gaunt. But I can speak Parseltongue nonetheless," Harry said, unsure just what to reveal at the moment. He was unable to play dumb with the witch in front of him.

Nodding, Yesca handed the book over to Harry. "Then it's yours kiddo. It'll only collect dust here. Hell I didn't even know I had the damn thing with how it was buried in here. At least it'll go to someone who can actually learn a thing from it rather than some collector who just boggles at it all day," Yesca offered.

Harry took the book from the purple haired witch and put inside the trunk he carried in his pocket. He would need to find some measure to protect this book if it was accessible only to those who spoke Parseltongue. Harry didn't want to think what Voldemort would do to obtain something like this journal.

"Thank you Yesca, I appreciate it. Though can we keep this between us? I don't want it to be known that I can speak to snakes. I'm sure you know how taboo it is," Harry asked the shop owner for the favor.

Yesca nodded down at the young man before her. "Don't worry sir, I'll do the whole discretion deal with whoever shops here. Most of these books have stuff in them that'd land you and then me in Azakban," Yesca admitted. "Between me and you…what's your name by the way?".

"Evans ma'am, Harry Evans," Harry said. Yesca's electric blue eye zeroed in on Harry.

"I told you to cut the ma'am shit out Evans. It's Yesca or nothing at all. Either way, you were never here between me and you," the multicolor eyed witch assured.

"Thank you Yesca, I appreciate this all once again. Perhaps I'll come back when I need some more reading material?" Harry told the smiling shopkeeper.

Yesca smirked at the thought of another frequent customer. She didn't get much business this far back in Knockturn Alley.

"See that you do Mr. Evans, good-day."

Departing the store feeling more relieved than before, Harry thought of where he could go to begin working on the contents of the Sayre Journal. Thinking of a place he hadn't been to in some time. Harry apparated away.

---

Harry stood in the forest of Dean with his gorgon-wand held out in front of him.

He had been reading the old leather bound spell tome written by a mid-17th century witch known as Gormlaith. The knowledge the witch had left her niece was proving to be invaluable. Already Harry had rune that he could create which would break the Vanishing Cabinet's enchantments in Borgin & Burke's store. He now also had several jinxes and curses he wanted to try from the witches vast collection.

The journal itself went into great detail of how a spell should be used and when. However, it was in the first book that Harry purchased, 'Dueling, Do's & Don'ts' by Renault that Harry could see the potential he could rise to if he combined both teachings.

The author, Renault, expressed the importance of immobilization before a combat spell, that to get the upper hand the victim has to be trapped of some sorts so that they can't get the upper hand. If one wasn't capable of immobilizing then they were to defend first before launching their attack. It was an approach that aired caution to be sure but Harry saw the merit.

Dodging curses was hard when you were impeded, or casting near impossible for those unable to do so silently if their mouth was banished right off.

Closing the book, Harry wanted to try a spell that had been highlighted by Gormlaith as a way to capture and potentially kill an opponent if they were weak enough in one fell swoop. From the poorly written description, Harry could see that it was some kind of binding spell that would leave the victim immobile but with some damage. There wasn't much more to the description on what the spell did, something that was a recurring theme in the witch's effort to record her knowledge.

Harry transfigured a boulder in front of him into a suitable target shaped like a training dummy.

Preparing himself, Harry steadied his feet. "Naithar flagellum," Harry twirled his wand over his head, speaking Gaelic as clearly as he could. Suddenly a large boa constrictor shot forth from his wand, its fangs bit down on the shoulder of the training dummy, the snake beginning to coil around its body and reel it toward Harry crushing the victim along the way.

With another snap of his wrist, Harry dispelled the boa from existence and approached the dummy. Its shoulder was mangled by the serpent's fangs and the dummy's chest was all but caved in from the constricting force. "A very lethal way to capture indeed," Harry thought.

Lifting back up his gorgon-wand, Harry tried another spell he had pulled from the journal. Spell after spell till he could feel his arm sagging from the weight of the newly acquired wand.

The birch-wood felt comfortable in his hand. He was unused to the gorgon's cold magic coursing through the magical medium he used, but it was also a comforting one. Like Gregovotich had said, they may have been reviled and dangerous magical creatures; they were also protectors.

Hoping that would be enough for him to stay away from the abyss that Voldemort himself had tumbled down when he immersed himself in the Dark Arts. Harry would be a protector, a shield for others. That would be his shield for himself.

Nodding in satisfaction. Harry looked down at his timepiece. It was already dusk out and he needed to be ready for tomorrow. It would be an eventful day sabotaging the Vanishing Cabinet and questioning Borgin or Burke about Tom's location through the guise of searching for a locket of Syltherin.

Lord Voldemort watched the flames flicker inside the fireplace that he was seated by. His presence in the home of the Dolohov's was chilly and almost unwelcomed. The Russian wizards who had fled from the Revolution that tore through their home decades ago were well-to-do, having spent many galleons on improving their family seat and new home after fleeing their mother country.

Behind the Dark Lord's chair were the twitching and groaning body of Augustus Rookwood. His faithful and loyal Death Eater implanted within the Department of Mysteries to spy upon the various projects that were running out of the secluded Department.

They studied such fascinating things within the basements it seemed, Memory, Time, Prophecy, even Death among many other things, which Lord Voldemort held a morbid curiosity about. He would never experience death himself after all.

However, the Dark Lord was simmering with rage at his Death Eater. Rookwood had all but ran into the Dark Lord's presence declaring that someone had infiltrated and destroyed the majority of the Time Room. A place which the Dark Lord had vested interest in. He couldn't allow for Dumbledore or even the Ministry to attempt the ancient magic against him, it also proved to be a good dumping ground for those who Voldemort needed to be rid of.

Already he had bound some Auror's and Order members of Dumbledore's away from their magic, reducing them to husks of their former selves before handing them over to Rookwood to experiment on with the power of time.

Send a person back in time to die. It was an effective clean up method that Voldemort had been thankful for. While it was still needed for a statement and show of force now and again, it wouldn't do to have too many mutilated bodies in the countryside.

However, upon inspection of his ministry spy's memories. Voldemort had found nothing. Rookwood had only noticed that the wards to the Department had been tripped with only an empty Unspeakable's uniform, the only evidence left behind. There was no other evidence. No way of knowing how many rooms the intruder investigated before destroying the Time room. Rookwood hadn't even seen the intruder himself.

There was a report out about a missing employee, Filmore. His robes must be the pair discarded in the wreckage. The man was potentially dead, Voldemort thought.

Stroking the yew wood and phoenix feather wand, in his long fingers. Voldemort considered everything. It would have taken someone of skill and know how to get inside the Department of Mysteries alone, let alone navigate to the Time room. Then to kill an Unspeakable…

The Dark Lord considered this new development and who could have been the player behind the move? He'd have to make some inquiries in case it was one of Dumbledore's lot.

---

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed the chapter rewrites. Let me know if you see any blatant errors and I'll go about editing them out. Thank you. Sorry the hassle folks, we're trying to do better over here. Promises.