Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Really! I mean it this time!

Sorry about the late update. I've been sick the past few days and not really paying attention to the time because of that.

But I'm here now, so here you go.

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Harry found himself sitting in the Keeper's tower the night after his visit to Gringotts, staring at the wall and absently twisting his newly-gained signet ring around and around on his finger. He was glad he had chosen the Black Lordship, as opposed to the Potter one. There were more advantages to being Lord Black, since he wouldn't have access to the vaults otherwise, and he didn't feel right accepting the Potter Lordship when he knew what he did about his true heritage. He knew that Sirius had been Lord Black; being that he had been the only male heir. He had never seen the ring though. Had Sirius never worn it? Or had he hidden it from the view of others out of shame? There was no way for Harry to know for certain if this ring had ever adorned his father's finger, but he liked to think it had. It made him feel a little closer to him, just as wearing the jacket did, and he resolved to never take the piece of jewelry off. It was more than something that brought him closer to Sirius. It was a symbol of his heritage, of the Black family, and his connection to Chronus Black; the last Keeper of Hogwart's.

He left the ring alone to run his fingers along the soft leather of the jacket's worn sleeve. This, he knew for certain Sirius had worn. He didn't know where it had come from, but he knew, somehow, that for some reason, it had been precious to Sirius; the man rarely removing it from his person. It was precious to him now, and, maybe one day, long from now, he would have a child, and when he died it would be precious to them. Or maybe he would have no children at all, and if so, he would be buried in it, and the Black Lordship would pass on to Draco, if he lived, or any sons the blonde might have. He thrust the thoughts aside. With no knowledge of what the future held, there was little point in imagining it.

He had met with Dumbledore again that morning, and the man had shared another memory with him. It was Dumbledore's own memory this time, and it had been strange for Harry to see a much younger headmaster, who was only a professor then, with a beard not even half as long, and it and his hair a color of red that was closer to brown than the hair of any Weasley. It had been the same man though. The same nose and twinkling blue eyes, and the same spectacles. He had watched, no more than an outside observer, as the man had met first with the matron of a rickety old orphanage, and then with a small, black-haired little boy that was nearly as small and scrawny as Harry had been at that age.

He had been a strange, untrusting little child, already with the beginnings of a streak of cruelty, if what the matron and the boy himself had said regarding his treatment of the other children was any indication. He had been so excited, legs trembling with shock and joy when Dumbledore had told him of his being a wizard. But there had been something wrong with him, even then. With his hatred and distrust of adults and the other children, and Harry knew, despite what Dumbledore stated about wishing to go back to that moment; that it was already too late, even then. What little Tom Riddle later became may have been shaped and molded by his treatment at the hands of the others and wizardkind, but the foundations had been there from the beginning. He had been born with something wrong with him; some crossed wire in his brain that meant he would always grow into a monster, and going back would change only the kind of demon he became.

Harry could see so many similarities between his own twelve-year-old self and the young Tom Riddle, but not enough to hold any pity in his heart for the other, the way the headmaster seemed to. No matter the similarities, they were far too different to have ever ended up in similar positions later on in life, no matter what other points in time were altered. While Dumbledore wished to go back and guide young Riddle, to help him, Harry dreamed of going back and snapping his jaws around the child's throat. It might be seen as cruelty, but for all the pain it would stop, Harry would happily be called a monster for it.

He wondered when he had changed so much that he would think of such things, when, before, he would have felt much the same about it as the headmaster did; would have been sickened by his own thoughts. Maybe it had been when he became an animagus, or maybe it was Sirius' death that had altered his heart so. Perhaps it was both, but it didn't matter. All Harry knew was that the child Riddle was lucky that travelling so far back in time was entirely impossible, for if it was not, the kid would be little more than a stain of blood on the wooden floor of his tiny room at Wool's orphanage.

He had told the headmaster none of this; knowing Dumbledore would not accept his thoughts on the matter kindly. They had talked more of the memory afterwards, and Harry had bit his tongue. They had spoken, also, of Moody, who had agreed to teach him, and would be there on Friday and would be teaching him every Friday after that point. Harry's every night after dinner was now occupied, between D.A. every other Monday, Astrology on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, and his occlumency lessons and tea with Severus on Thursdays. He just knew his lessons with the old Auror would leave him exhausted afterwards, and he wondered with morbid curiosity at just how sore he was going to be on Saturdays.

He shuddered.

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Monday had Draco slipping a list of Malfoy-owned properties and their locations, or approximate locations, into his hand during potions. That had him sending Hedwig off before dinner to the same store in diagon he had gotten his trunks from, since they sold maps as well, and then slipping off to the seventh floor after dinner. He wasn't the first D.A. Member to arrive there, and a sniff in the direction of the mirrored wall told him that Severus was already present. He sat on the edge of the platform, the practice floor covered in room-provided cushions, and he waited until everyone had come in and settled down before he spoke.

Hermione sat in the front, and narrowed her eyes at him, already knowing something was up. They may not be friends anymore, and rarely spoke, but the girl could still read him all too well. He wondered if that would ever change. He eyed them all with a severe expression, and they all lapsed into silence, sat up straighter, and watched him carefully. Those who had accompanied him to the Ministry the previous year looking particularly attentive.

"Voldemort is on the move." He felt accomplished when noting how few of them flinched; having worked on getting them all to stop fearing his name. No one spoke. "At the end of the year, he will take Hogwarts." Several people cried out, and he raised a hand. They quieted. "There is no stopping him. It will happen. Those of you, and the other students, who are purebloods, will be safe enough. The death eaters will be cruel, but they won't kill purebloods. Those who are half-blood will be treated badly, but not killed, though their parents will not be so safe. Any of you who are muggleborn..." He let the words hang in the air, not needing to add to them, and many there paled. He continued.

"I have a task for you. For all of you; if you will hear me out." He waited, giving anyone who wanted it a chance to back out. No one spoke out. "I want you all to go back to your houses after tonight, and warn everyone. Tell them to write their families; to get away if they can. Leave Hogwarts. Leave Britain. Anyone who is muggle-born, who cannot get away, or half-blood, whose parents cannot hide, or those whose parents are in service to Voldemort, and do not wish the same fate upon themselves, I want you to send them to me. At the end of the year, I will take them all, and I will leave. I will bring them someplace safe, where Voldemort cannot reach them. The rest of you, those who are pureblood, I want you to stay. Stay and protect the younger years and any half bloods who remain here. When Voldemort makes his move, I want you to confine everyone to the dorms and admit defeat. Let them take the school, and spend the year preparing. Prepare for war. If you're brave enough to do this, I will be in your debt for the rest of my life, and if you are not, then leave. Leave while you still have the chance, and you will go with my blessing." No one spoke, and Harry nodded at them all.

"D.A. is cancelled today. Go and think, sleep on what I've said. We will meet here next week, and you can give me your answers then. You cannot tell the teachers, and don't give the details to anyone. If you choose to help, then do what you must to make those who are able to leave and hide, but don't tell them the truth of it." He made a motion with his hand, and everyone seemed to shake themselves before standing and flittering out, muttering worriedly amongst themselves. The Slytherins, Hermione, and Ginny remained behind, and Harry clenched his fists to hide the trembling from their eyes. He wasn't built for leadership; his heart wasn't hard enough for it. The redhead met his eyes, and he was somewhat surprised by the strong, resolute emotions he found there. They were sharp, piercing; and she nodded at him with determination before leaving. He wondered when her crush on him had faded, and when she had stopped being a child. Hermione watched him for a moment, looking as though she wanted to say something, and he waited. In the end she startled him by coming up and throwing her arms around him. She held him tight, as though he would vanish, and he found himself hugging her back. He missed her.

"Be careful." She whispered before letting go, and looking at him. He nodded with a forced sort of smile, and her returned smile was just as false, before she turned and left, and he could focus his attention on the Slytherins. They came up to him, and he waited for them to speak.

"You meant it. Didn't you? You really plan to protect everyone." Blaise watched him with hard eyes, the panther stalking in circles around the snake's legs.

"I can't stop Voldemort. Not yet. I'm not strong enough yet. But I will be. I just need more time. So I'll do what I can to keep everyone safe until I'm ready to rip him apart." Greengrass snorted.

"No offense Harry," She looked sharply at him. "But no matter how much you're capable of, you'll never be able to kill him." She looked sad, and he knew she believed that, even though she wished it otherwise. He looked carefully at her, considering, and at the others. Draco looked down, apparently believing much the same. VIncent and Gregory shifted around, their expressions unsure. He knew by now that, while not the sharpest tools in the shed, they were smarter than they made others believe, but even they didn't think he could do it. Blaise's face told him nothing, but the dark teen met his eyes resolutely. These people knew a great deal that they could have used against him at any time, but they hadn't, and, knowing that, Harry made his choice.

"Do you remember last year, when you asked me what my animagus form was, and I wouldn't tell you?" The blonde girl watched him carefully, her face belying her confusion.

"Yes..."

"If I were to tell you of if now, would I have your word, on your lives, that you would tell no one?" She blinked at him, and then looked to her fellow snakes. He watched them all consider silently, and hold some sort of conversation without words. They each nodded, and he felt the magic of their promise settle around them. It curled within their forms and his like a noose and made the teen shiver. He knew they wouldn't be able to break this promise, even without having made a verbal oath; a wizard's intentions were more than enough for binding magical contract. He lifted up his arm, his sleeve falling back to reveal the glamour band. He touched it gently.

"When I first went through it, I was trying to escape. It was just after fourth year, and Cedric's death was so prominent in my mind that I wanted more than anything to forget. I threw myself into it, focused on nothing but becoming an animagus, because if I stopped, even for a moment, Cedric's dead eyes would flash in my mind, and his voice would whisper in my ears that I was at fault; and I couldn't face that. So I did it, and I gave it my all, and I rushed through it so violently, that I never did take any precautions. When I meditated, I could have lost myself in my mind. When I tried to transform, I was alone, and I never took the potion. When I managed the transformation, I nearly lost myself to the mind of the beast, and it was chance alone that I didn't." He paused, shifting his arm and making the band glint in the light. "Even then, it changed me. Changed my body and my mind, and sometimes I think it even changed my soul." He let his arm fall a bit, and looked at them. Draco was looked at the band with understanding, knowing now what it was; having already known he wore a glamour, but only know knowing why. All their eyes showed comprehension, and Blaise's dark gaze was still glued to his face.

"The Mishipeshu is a dark creature; one I still know very little about, and there are times when I feel I'm more it than human." He kept his eyes on them as he pulled off the band. Blaise's eyes never strayed from his, and he focused on the dark teen even as Greengrass gasped and the other boys took steps back in shock and maybe fear. He flashed his sharp teeth in a predatory way, and his tail flicked behind him in a manner that looked irritated but was only nervous. He looked down at his hands, and flexed his claws, the sharp appendages looking deadly from their places at the tips of his fingers. "One day, I will rend Voldemort's flesh from his bones with these claws. I could do so now, even, if I were to face him. But I want to take no chances. I need to be able to match his magic if I'm to get close enough to kill him the way I want. I need to have the spells, the arsenal, and the skill, to get past his followers and anything he puts in my way to keep me from reaching him. Then, and only then, I'll kill him." He snarled, and his eyes snapped back to the snakes. He put the band back on and stood.

"All I'm asking, is that you have faith in me until then. Give me one year. Work with me until the end of seventh year, and, if Voldemort is not in pieces by then, you can turn to him and forsake me, if that's your choice. But give me your trust until that time." Blaise was still watching him, and as the others finally nodded, true hope in their eyes, the dark teen grinned.

And Harry grinned back.

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Severus berated him for nearly an hour after the Slytherins had left, telling him how stupid he had been to take the risk of telling the. That it was in the nature of a Slytherin to use any information they had to their advantage, and that he couldn't have been any more foolish for offering up such valuable ammo. The man finally shut up when Harry pointed out that he was only mad because he was worried about Harry, something the professor still disliked admitting, and the man had stormed off with a snort and a glare. He would pay for that during his next lesson, but at the time he had simply been amused with how flustered he had made him.

It was Wednesday now, and he had sent Kreacher off to the Russian castle, Bogdon Stronghold, Grimrok had called it, to get the elves cleaning the place up and making it livable. Kreacher had been inordinately pleased at the thought of being in charge of a large group of his kin, and had actually grinned. It had been a twisted expression that looked nearly wrong on the old elf's face, but a grin nonetheless.

He watched the Great Hall at breakfast that morning, noting how many more owls there were than usual, and knew that the D.A. had already put things in motion. The professors seemed to notice the increase in letters also, but beyond a comment or two they didn't appear to think much of it. The winter holidays would arrive in just three weeks, so maybe they thought it was because of that. Harry wondered how many students would leave the school then. A good number hadn't attended this year as it was, new of Voldemort's return already sending a good number of families on the run before the school-year had started. Those were the smart ones, Harry thought.

Care of Magical Creatures was a welcome first class that day, and Harry reveled in the work with the curious little Nifflers, even if it did mean having to hide away anything shiny and ensure his glamour band was hidden under his sleeve. He had completely forgotten Oddball's presence on his head, and the red puff and the thieving critters seemed to get along well, he and one of them squeaking and cooing at each other nearly the entire class; as though they were having some sort of conversation. Hagrid was delighted by it, and kept finding excuses to keep near Harry so he could watch. The teen knew for a fact that the half giant kept no less than five of the miniature puffs in his cabin, and he hoped the big man wouldn't try to introduce them to anything more likely to eat them. He had hardly spoken to Hagrid these past two years, though the man always had a bright smile and a wave for him, and he regretted that he hadn't spent much time with him.

It was for the best though, he told himself. Hagrid would be less likely to miss him or go looking for him with them not being so close anymore. Still, the gentle giant (half-giant) had, at one time, been a good friend, and was still such, to Harry, even if he didn't hardly speak to him. Maybe, once all the unpleasantness regarding Voldemort had been dealt with, he could be close with Hagrid again, and come to visit him in his hut as often as the big man would have him.

He left the class in a somber mood, and moved on to the castle to head to Transfiguration. He had double Spellcrafting later on in the day, and he wanted his other classes to move quickly so he could get to it.

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Dinner had Hedwig swooping in with wooden tube that was longer than he was tall. Another, brown barn owl was helping her carry it, and they dropped it on Gryffindor table with a loud thunk and clattering as it disrupted all the plates and silverware in its' way. He gave her some toast with a chuckle as those around him yelped and complained about the odd package upending their suppers. He picked it up, finding it wasn't all that heavy to him, though his increased strength likely was at hand in this, wiped a bit of mashed potato off one end, and then left, package in hand. Several people watched him go, all curious and wondering. He was sure there would be twenty different rumors about what was in it in the morning, but he didn't care.

He wandered through the halls leisurely, keeping an eye out for anyone following after him, and went up the stairs to the seventh floor, and the keeper's tower. No one bothered him along the way, and he slipped in with a pleased smile on his face. One end of the tube simply blended into the sides, but the top had a cap that was attached by hinges and a latch. The latch had no lock, and he opened it up and tipped it over, shimmying it to get the contents out. The large paper within fell to the floor with a flop. He amended his thought upon sight of it, finding it to be made of cloth rather than parchment or paper.

He spread it out, and beheld the map with wide, curious eyes. It was different than the map he had seen in primary school, with more land about, and colored lines to represent various wards that hid them from muggles. It was of an old style, like a traditional seafaring map, with stylized art of various items and creatures in occasional places that represented the magical creatures living in those places, and tanned and brownish painted land, with each country, ocean, and whatnot labeled in beautifully written calligraphy. He had asked only for a simple, if detailed, map, and wondered what their idea of a complicated one was. It was a gorgeous work of art more than just a map, and he resolved to use bits of parchment and sticking charms to mark it rather than writing on it directly as he had originally thought to do. Or, he supposed, he could use something like muggle pins, without the pointy bits, and sticking charms, if only to save space.

He rolled it up, taking more care than when he had opened it now that he knew how beautiful it was, and put it back into the tube, closing the latch, and adding one of Fred and George's locks to it. Short of destroying the whole thing, no one would ever open it. He set it on his bed for the time being, knowing it was unlikely to fit inside his trunk, and wondered when he had gotten so paranoid.

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Harry looked around the room curiously. It was, according to Dumbledore, a room that had been made for dueling. It was huge, with nothing in it but four stone walls, the ceiling, floor, and the big wooden door they had come in through. Dumbledore had lead he and Moody down to it (the dueling room being located in the dungeons, a level down from the floor Severus' office and quarters, and the Slytherin common room were) and left them there. Harry had been able to hear the headmaster's footsteps leading down the hall until the door was closed. Moody was currently poking about and casting spells around the room, muttering to himself. If he wanted, Harry could listen, but he opted not to. He perused the room a bit, and then waited once he'd lost interest. Finally, Moody seemed to finish, nodded to himself, and turned to face Harry.

"Albus says ye wan' proper teachin'." Harry nodded, and Moody gave a grunt. "Thought ye might ask fer it, at some point er other. Alrigh' then. If I'm ta teach ye, ye'll do whatever I say. No arguin'. That understood?"

"Yes sir." Moody's tone was different than the one he had used that night they shared liqueur together, and Harry knew that, while playing the part of teacher, the old Auror would take no nonsense.

"Alrigh'. Ye wear armor 'neath yer clothes." It wasn't really a question, but Harry nodded all the same.

"Yes sir."

"Take off everythin' but that. Shoes, socks, and yer glamour too, lad."

"Yes sir." He did so, tossing everything but his wand and glasses into a pile near the door.

"We both know ye don' need those." Harry reluctantly tossed the glasses away too. "Yer wand as well. Ye won't be needin' it fer ye firs' lesson." Harry warily did as told.

"Yes sir." Yes sir, yes sir, Merlin he felt like a soldier.

"Now then." He pulled out his own wand quickly and snapped off a spell towards Harry. The teen leapt to the side, the spell just barely missing him.

"What was that for?!" He snapped.

"Firs' lesson is learnin' ta dodge, duck, roll and run."

"Don't I get some advice first?!" Moody grinned, revealing a few missing teeth, and one gold one.

"No better learnin' than with experience." And with that they began. Moody let out several spells in quick succession, and Harry, even with his advanced speed, only just managed to avoid them. Even then, the last of the lot, a stinging hex, managed to catch him and make him let out a yelp; tail lashing angrily. "Whatcha standin' around fer, boy? Don't ye know a movin' target's harder ta hit?" He began again, letting out more spells than the first time, and Harry ducked into a roll and ran.

He made it a few paces and then the stone floor in front of him exploded spectacularly. He made a noise not unlike a startled cat and skidded to a halt, ending up on all fours as he stumbled. More spells headed his way, lights made of blue and orange and red, and he was forced to move; scrambling across the stones on all fours. He was surprised to realize he moved faster that way, low to the ground with his limbs bent into ways they shouldn't quite be able to when in human form, and he hesitated. The hesitation cost him and he was hit again, this time by something blue in color that filled his side with a sharp pain liked he had been cut, but without leaving a wound.

He pushed away his thoughts and moved, avoiding the spells as best he could, rushing across the ground on all fours and using his tail to help steer him. He bounded in zigzagging patterns, just barely avoiding some volatile spells. He let his instincts guide him, just barely thinking at all, and then, suddenly, he was moving up, rushing up one of the walls in bounds and digging his claws into it to get leverage. As soon as he realized this, he faltered, and began falling. He scratched at the wall to try and catch himself, but it was too late. He smashed into the ground with a thump and a hiss of pain, and then he couldn't move because he was bound up in ropes. He grit his teeth and glared as Moody walked over, chuckling.

"Ye did well till ye second guessed yerself. Don' do that. Let yer gut tell ye what ta do, not yer head. In a fight, ye don' have proper time to think. Ye just gotta move. Move and don' falter. Thinkin' is ta be done before the fight, or if ye manage to get some cover. Not till then, ye got it?" Harry nodded with a grunt, his ribs aching.

"Yes sir."

"Good." Moody spelled away the ropes. "Now, on yer feet. Let's go again."

Harry groaned.

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Harry found himself falling into bed that night with a whimper, not even pulling off the clothes and glamour that he had only just managed to put on after the lesson had ended. He didn't bother pulling up the covers, and sank gratefully into painful and exhausted sleep. Moody had forbidden him to get any kind of medical or potion based help, saying that this sort of thing would increase his pain tolerance, and, while he knew the old Auror was correct, right then he hated him for it.

He woke up Saturday morning with a groan, and pushed himself up in his elbows with a wince. He felt sore all over. It wasn't so bad as the night previous, but he felt as though he'd been pummeled into the ground. It reminded him of Dudley and his friend's 'Harry-hunting' days before he had learned to run away, or when they managed to trap him. He sighed tiredly, and got to his feet. He needed to get up. He wanted to work on the map today, having not had time to do more than construct some pinless-pins previously. It wasn't physical work, so it hopefully wouldn't kill him too badly.

He found his way to the living area, and managed to get the tube open to pull the masterful thing out. He spread it on the floor, a box of the false pins in one hand that he had transfigured out of a large bag of marbles in the bottom of his trunk that he couldn't recall having ever obtained, and his wand in the other hand. There were various colors, and he set about marking the map using the lists he had. One was of the Malfoy properties, one of his own (measly by comparison) lands, and there were two more, one from Blaise, and the other from Neville. Blaise and his mother were coming, though Neville wasn't, and they had both said that they could floo people to whatever place was closest that whichever of the three families owned, and then Harry's various house-elves could apparate people from there.

He placed markers for everything, ending up with a map covered in various dots. Yellow for Malfoy, Blue for Blaise, Green for Neville, and Black for his own. The closest place ended up being a Zabini property near St. Petersburg, and just inside of Russia. It was pushing the boundaries for how far the elves could travel, and they would only be able to take one person at a time, but it was doable. They could floo everyone there. The only trouble now seemed to be how to get any muggle families in need of refuge to Hogwarts in order to get them there. That was something he would need to consult Severus about, since he honestly didn't have a clue at to how to go about it without alerting the headmaster.

Unless...

He thought about it a moment. What if they got the muggles there separately from the rest? He would be going to Gringotts the weekend after next, the last opportunity he would have to do so before going to the Weasley's for the Christmas hols. They had said they would make him a portkey with which to do so. Couldn't they do the same for the muggles? Then he could just have them sent directly to Bogdon before he activated the wards. No one would be able to portkey there without permission after that. He had planned to activate them on his trip from the bank, but if he waited...

He nodded. That might work. The only problem now would be in getting everyone to the bank. Once they were in the Alley it was simple enough, but muggles couldn't even see, much less enter, the Leaky Cauldron without help, let alone getting them into Diagon. Everyone could likely get to London on their own, but they would need someone magical to lead them to the bank. He grumbled to himself. A light bulb lit in his mind and he leapt up, promptly yelling out and cursing when the sudden motion brought him pain.

He cussed all the way over to the desk in the bedroom, and was still grumbling as he penned out a note to the twins. He would need to go out into the castle, and make his way to the Owlery, but the sooner they got the letter, the sooner he would know what to do. He mumbled irritably to himself all the way there. The pain in his limbs made for a foul mood that had anyone nearby edging away from him and ensuring he wasn't bothered.

Somewhere, he was sure that Moody was laughing his ass off.

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He was still stiff, if not that sore, when Monday morning potions class came around, and he slipped notes to Draco, Blaise, and Neville about the property they would be using. Somehow, the three teens had become his main co-conspirators in all of this, and he suspected that their involvement would only deepen in the future. He couldn't honestly say he minded though. Of all the people he could have to watch his back, there was really nobody better than the people who already were. Between these three, Severus, Moody, and the twins, he imagined that Voldemort would be in for quite some trouble.

The thought put him in a better mood than he had been during the weekend, between his continued soreness, and some of Dumbledore's memories about Riddle during his school years. The combination of the two having left him in a foul temper till now.

Tom Riddle had been just as much a monster at Hogwarts as he had been at Wool's orphanage. On the surface there had been a charming young man, an excellent student, and a wonderful overachiever. He had gotten entirely good grades, never got into trouble, and the only thing missing had been him being captain of the Quidditch team; as he never played. But it was what lay beneath the surface that proved his true colors. While at school, anyone unkind to him had a tendency of having some terrible accident befall them that couldn't be pinned on anyone being at fault, that often left them maimed; sometimes temporarily, sometimes not. There was a coldness to his polite facade; the boy never dating, and his friends behaving in a manner similar to servants. They would all scramble around to do whatever he said, and seemed to worship the very ground he tread on, though he was never caught joking and laughing with them or even doing anything in return for the many 'favors' they seemed to do for him.

Harry recognized many of those faces as belonging to people later convicted, or 'suspected' of being death eaters. There was just something wrong about the whole picture, and only Dumbledore had seemed to realize it; everyone else believing the boy was all but perfect, professors and students alike. It reminded Harry of those children's books with images that said 'what's wrong with this picture' at the top. Still, after watching them, even Harry could not deny that Voldemort had once been charming and inspiring, and it was that web of charm and lies which let him trap others to the point where, even after they realized they were in the nest of a spider, they could do nothing to save themselves. It only served to make him hate the monster even more.

Class went by quickly, Slughorn rather pleased with their performances, and Harry wandered away to his next class. The others had known better than to look at the notes in class, and he would only be able to speak with them on Thursday, having included in their notes that they were to meet him at Severus' office after dinner. If not for the subjects they would be discussing, Harry might worry about the man being irritated at their lesson being postponed for an hour or so. As it was, he knew the potion master would prefer to know exactly what was going on, and have it all discussed where he could give his own input.

He wondered how Neville would react when he discovered how good of terms he was on with the man who was his boggart.

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The visit to Gringotts came quicker than expected, and he arrived just after breakfast on Saturday, sporting bruises from the day before. They had moved on from learning to dodge spells to learning to dodge physical blows, and Harry was still trying to figure out how an old, peg-legged pirate-looking wizard with a few extra pounds around the middle could possibly be so damned fast. His glamours only made him look human. They didn't hide the large, purpling bruise on his cheek, and Grimrok eyed it when he came in. He glared hotly at the short being; daring him to say a word, and the goblin wisely held his tongue on the matter.

"Right this way, Lord Black. We have a very specific room for portkey-travel." He nodded and followed along. The room he was led into had goblin guards with spears posted on both sides outside and inside the doors, and looked much the same as the room they often spoke in, sans furniture. "This is your portkey. The activation key is the name of the bank. You will say it once to leave, and once to bring you back." He offered up a golden ring, big enough to fit around Harry's head. He imagined he could even slip it up around his neck if he didn't want to carry it, and did so now, earning himself an amused glance from the goblin.

"Thank you Grimrok." He paused. "Before I leave, I have a question."

"Yes?" Grimrok looked impatient, likely having other business to attend to while Harry was gone, and he grimaced inside at irritating the creature again. He had, since that first meeting, done his best to stay in the goblin's good graces.

"I was wondering if it might be possible to set up a portkey that would send a large number of muggles to Bogdon, and how much such a thing might cost if it were." The goblin scratched his chin.

"I'll have to look into it. Would these muggles be aware of the magical world?" Harry nodded.

"Families of wizards and witches." The goblin nodded.

"It should be possible then. Portkeys work as well on muggles as not, but as far as fees go, I'll have to ask my superiors. Part of it is distance, but numbers come into play also, and there may be an extra fee given that they're non-magical." Harry grimaced, feeling his pockets lightening already, but nodded all the same.

"Thank you, Grimrok."

"You're welcome, Lord Black." The goblin left him alone in the room then, aside from the guards, and Harry prepared himself for the travel. He hated portkeys.

"Gringotts."

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He nearly landed face-first in the snow once the portkey had dropped him, and wound up on his hands and knees in the middle of it. It was thicker than the snow he was used to, and he got to his feet carefully. The cold didn't bother him, even though he wasn't dressed for it. It had been snowing at Hogwarts, and Diagon as well, but what was the point of wrapping yourself up in layers when the cold didn't bother you and all the extra cloth just left you feeling clumsy and uncomfortable?

When he stood, he found himself in the middle of a courtyard of sorts, the walls of Bogdon Stronghold rising up on all sides around him. The place was made of grey stone several shades darker than Hogwart's walls, and he studied them. There looked to be three tall floors, making the castle as high as a muggle building with twice the number, each with windows of colored glass, and there were walkways with overhangs against each of the inner walls of the courtyard. Two of the walls, directly across from one another, possessed old wooden doors that were painted white of all colors, and looked strong and sturdy. Their coloring made them stand out against the castle's dark stone, and they were large enough for a truck to drive through them.

"Kreacher." The elf appeared in the snow with him, and Harry thought he looked better than usual, despite there being no outward marker of such in his appearance.

"Yes, master?" He cocked his head to the side. It was the first time the elf had addressed him as master before he had given an order. It was almost like a greeting.

"Would you mind giving me the grand tour?" He smiled at the little being, and Kreacher nodded.

"Yes Master. Right this way." He led him through one of the doors, snapping his fingers to open it, and showed Harry around the place that would soon become his home.

Bogdon Stronghold was constructed of six floors in total; the other three being below ground. Each above-ground floor had several empty rooms, some furnished as living quarters with their own bedrooms and bathrooms, others just empty, a couple communal bathrooms on each floor, and some larger rooms with purpose. Aside from living quarters, the top floor had a large ventilated room for potion-making, and an owlery. The second floor possessed a Library, a bit larger than the Keeper's one. Only about half the shelves were filled, and Harry imagined that if he moved the books from Grimmauld in then it would fill it. There was also a dueling room, smaller than the one at Hogwarts. The ground floor had a dining hall, the kitchens, and an empty, cavernous room that looked to have been a ballroom at some point or other.

The first underground floor was more empty rooms, a smaller, empty, library, several storerooms, and a room with many shelves and a handful of various weapons that was meant to have been an armory at some point or other. The other two underground floors were dungeons, with clean, empty cells lining the halls that were drenched in wards and spells to keep any occupants from leaving. Only the first of these floors was usable, however, the spells on the lowest floor looking to have fade, and the entire place flooded with water.

"We managed to find how the water got in," Kreacher was saying. "and we patched it up, but we is having trouble getting the water that's here out." Harry eyed said water, from his place at the top of the stairs leading down to the bottom level. It had risen to about half-way up the stairs, and there were various bits of things floating in it.

"Kreacher."

"Yes Master?"

"Don't worry about getting the water out. I'd like you to clean it instead, and, if you can, remove the bars on the cells down there. Make it as open as possible." Kreacher looked puzzled by his order, but nodded.

"Yes Master." The sea was nearby, but this would serve him well in the event that he couldn't get to it quickly.

The castle was surrounded on all sides by walls just a meter taller than the roof of the place, that had doors leading inside them and stairs within to reach a walkway across the top. There were short walls up there for cover, and holes that suggested a past of dumping hot oil on any would-be attackers. He could understand, with ease, why the place was called a Stronghold. It was essentially an English-style castle, if a simple one, despite location. Beyond the walls there was nothing but snow for miles and miles, with the sea just barely visible off in the Northern distance, and even then only because of the clear weather. The only other building was a tower nearly a mile in the distance of the sea, which was also part of Harry's property. It was a bell tower, so far as he was aware.

"I want you to see about getting as much food here as you can. Enough to feed a lot of people for as long as a year, maybe more. Things that last long, or are under stasis." Kreacher nodded. "Fill the storerooms. The cells too, if you need to. We need to be as prepared as possible. Make sure there are warming spells on every room."

"Yes Master." Harry smiled.

"You've done very well so far. Thank you, Kreacher." The elf's eyes glowed.

"You're welcome, Master."

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Harry's setting things up to help people...

Anyways, I promise I'll update the next chapter in just a few days, since this one was late, after that I want to go back to the weekly updates, since that's an easier schedule to keep.

We are slowly but steadily moving forwards.

Have any of you seen the trailer for Thor; The Dark World? I just watched the trailer recently… The movie is supposed to come out in November, and we get to see more of Asgard, as well as a deeper look into Thor and Loki's characters. I'm looking forward to it.

I wonder if this fic will be done before it comes out, if not, I might have to go see it, and utilize some of the plot. It'll be fun to see what happens, no?

Bye for now, see you all in a few days.

Sincerely,

Mr. Hate