A Strange Old World Ch.24 (Patreon)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Chapter 24- Kicking Over the Anthill

AN: Beta'd by Kaladin

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Power.

'There is no good or evil.’

It was a strange thing, power; magical or political. Precious and desired, tempting but dangerous…

‘There is only power, and those too weak to seek it.'

It was something that Harry had never asked for in his last life. Never desired, never hungered for. At least, not until the war started, and he realized how wasteful it truly was in the hands of those who already had it; the corrupt, power-hungry tyrants, all trying to control their little worlds with their foolish little schemes. But even then, he couldn't remember ever coveting it for his own personal gain.

It must be truly poetic then, to possess so much of both kinds so suddenly.

He hadn't quite realized what his deal with Dumbledore would truly entail, not until the old man had asked him just this morning—quite out of the blue, he might add—on what exactly the Order should do next. To hear his mentor ask him for directions in steering a vigilante organization like the Order was…well, to say he was surprised would be an understatement.

The Order of the Phoenix, something Harry had never actually been a part of, now directly under his command...

It laid heavily upon his shoulders, all the responsibility such great power brought. Less than two weeks since he first started integrating himself within the Ministry, and his political might had only increased ever since.

For someone who had as much experience in politics as a waddling troll, it was a complete miracle that he hadn't yet made a blunder that could possibly unravel the entire government. Till now, he was playing off of his memories, using his past experience to bring changes that he desired above all, but he had to stop and ask himself, 'How long will this work?'

Sooner or later, he would have to deal with waves too big for him to handle. He wasn't quite the political genius people probably took him as. He couldn't maneuver around pieces like Lucius Malfoy or the late Rufus Scrimgeour. His method was simple and straightforward, if he saw a problem, he would be quick to eliminate it—be it Wizengamot or the corrupt Hogwarts' governors. He had neither the patience nor the skill to manipulate a bunch of scheming old-timers to do what he wanted…well, at least not without directly threatening them and their families.

But what could he do about the enemies working in the shadows, hidden from his sight? The kind who play the long game, waiting for the right opportunity to strike.

Keep going as he had been, and eliminate them when the time comes?

That was the easiest, and the most reliable solution, if his future-knowledge failed him.

Barring murder, however, he couldn’t see himself engaging in a useless war of politics.

It was a good thing he didn’t need to right now, his authority completely secured for the time being. All the major pieces were in his pocket; from the Minister to the Aurors, and now the Order itself. Eventually, however, he would need someone else to take secondary command, while he focused on the bigger picture. Someone who could arrange them on the field properly, to move them in correct order and strike down any opposition before it could have any chance to rise.

The amount of influence and authority he currently wielded in the Wizarding World was too much for one man to handle, and it rested upon him to exercise it with caution and wisdom. Failure, especially now, was not an option. He'd seen firsthand how easily wizards could change colors, it wouldn't take long to go from the most-beloved of all wizards to the most-hated.

‘I guess I have Albus and Amelia for that right now.’ Harry mused, his feet trudging down from the seventh floor, separating away from the Headmaster and the room of requirements. ‘But Dumbledore won’t last long, unless I master the Death element in ten months. Maybe I should bring Bella up to date with everything…she and Lily could be my closest advisors.’

While he didn’t like throwing them to the wolves, he wouldn’t shy away from admitting the warmth and comfort the thought of them acting as his advisors brought. Even in his previous life, he hadn’t been alone in managing the rebellion. Hermione and Ginny had been there to make sure his authority was heard.

Now, with even greater power, he needed just as great advisors. And who better than Bella and Lily?

One thing had been made clear to him by Dumbledore, however, no matter how unwillingly…‘I can’t keep operating alone.’

He needed all the help he could get if he wanted to properly pay attention to Elemental magic and the Dark Lords, for the weight of the expectations he'd set himself to were vast, and the tasks; treacherous and many.

Especially now that the Horcruxes of Voldemort—that had been out of his reach for a long time—were bared to him, ripe for the picking.

With Dumbledore's help, he could now easily possess the locket rotting in that cave. The Diadem of Ravenclaw sat safely hidden within the depths of the Come-and-Go room, waiting only for his action. The Diary and the Gaunt ring were destroyed by Sly-Harry and Dumbledore respectively. Even the Snake could be taken care of... eventually.

The only thing that remained a mystery this time was the Hufflepuff's cup. Bella's place as the most trusted within Voldemort's rank was replaced by Sirius, yet it would be right foolish for the Dark Lord to place a piece of his soul within the Black vaults. And the traitorous Death Eater had no other vaults in Gringotts.

‘Soon.’ Harry promised himself. He would go after the Horcruxes as soon as he'd dealt with the tasks that needed his immediate attention.

With the Marauder’s map in his hands, Harry spied upon the interior of Hogwarts, his feet traversing through its corridors swiftly. His Aurors had finally arrived, two groups of three surrounding the Hogwarts' grounds. Their job was already known to them without his input: to secure the castle perimeters, and make sure the sentient monster species of Forbidden Forest weren’t being…mischievous, before heading for Hogsmeade. By the dawn of the next day, he expected Hogsmeade to be charmed to the brim, the chief amongst them? The Caterwauling charm, an idea stolen straight from the Death Eaters who’d captured the village in his last life.

Apart from the two teams, there was one extra guard instructed solely to guard the castle, selected especially by Harry himself.

A small smirk broke through his worries as the name ‘Nymphadora Tonks’ appeared at the edge of the castle, his feet doing a quick turn and heading for the shortest way to the grand staircase.

'Maybe I'll find some stress release, after all.'

It was the duty of his Aurors to serve him faithfully, was it not? Perhaps he might even give her a promotion for a job well done.

…Hopefully she wasn’t angry about his silence in the last two weeks. Then again, perhaps it was for the better…he did know a good way to satisfy her anger.

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With a steaming cup of Earl gray tea clasped in his gloved hands, Albus Dumbledore relaxed back in his chair. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips, his tired bones finally finding a measure of relief after a particularly taxing hour of Dueling.

He just wasn’t meant for that kind of work anymore.

‘Still, it is a good day to be alive.’, Dumbledore mused, taking a long, audible sip from the cup.

The pleasant petrichor in the electrifying air gave Hogwarts a much-needed twinge of excitement between all the recent gloominess. The presence of Aurors around the castle, on the other hand, acted like a beacon of security to the students and teachers alike. Times were dark yes, but simply knowing that the Ministry was working to find a solution was enough for most to rest back and relax.

But more importantly for him—and admittedly, quite selfishly—his shoulders were free from the enormous burden they carried every day for the first time in a long, long time.

Rare were the mornings that Dumbledore woke up feeling so light and carefree, not bound by the infinite obligations weighing him down…and it was all thanks to a certain green-eyed student who’d breathed a new light of hope in his weary old heart single-handedly. With the Wizengamot’s cessation, he no longer had to worry about his duties as the Chief Warlock. Nor would he need to battle a corrupt Ministry with Amelia, Bellatrix, and Harry heading it. Even the overarching war on the horizon did not seem hopeless anymore, leaving him free to act as a half-decent Headmaster for the first time in a long while.

It almost made him feel like he'd grown two decades younger overnight.

A sudden roar from the fireplace startled Dumbledore out of his thoughts. But he knew exactly who he'd find before he even turned. With a smile, he greeted the robed figure of his old friend stumbling into the office.

"A very good morning to you, Alastor!" Albus beamed with good cheer. "News from the Ministry, I take it?"

"Like ruddy hell, Albus." The hobbling Auror grumbled, wiping away the Fireplace's soot as he plopped himself opposite the Headmaster. "You'll have your bloody news when I find what in the Merlin goes around that place anymore."

Smiling, Dumbledore took another slow sip from his cup, smacking his lips in satisfied appreciation. "All in good time, my friend…all in good time. For now, be at ease knowing everything is as it should be."

And for once, he wasn’t playing in half-truths. The layer of fear and uncertainty that curtained him since the day his death was assured had finally been lifted from his eyes, leaving behind only peaceful acceptance towards his next great journey. Things weren’t as hopeless anymore; even without him, the Wizarding World would have someone to look up to, someone capable of guiding the country through these perilous times. Everything was under control…well, more or less. Sure, it wasn't under his control but that hardly mattered anymore.

The veteran Auror in front of him froze up in his seat, his single eye flashing with suspicion as he peered up at Dumbledore. "For a man constantly barking about the difficult times ahead, you sure sound awfully cheerful, Albus. Why, if I didn't know better, I'd be afraid someone spiked those sugary balls you like to suck so much."

Dumbledore hummed, lips twitching in amusement. "...Perhaps you truly don't know any better then, Alastor. Or perhaps I simply realized that Lemon drops taste much better when laced with some Cheering Potion. Would you like to taste some?”

"Oh, cut the shit, Albus.” Moody growled, leaning on the desk heavily. “Not in the mood for your games today. Something happened. Spit it out."

Dumbledore’s smile dimmed not one bit. It would take a whole lot more to ruin this perfect day.

"A lot has happened, old friend," He maintained. "but that is no reason to deny yourself the pleasures of life.”

“Albus.” The growl grew louder.

Sighing, Dumbledore sat up straighter. “My apologies, Alastor. I'm afraid I simply cannot share anything right now."

Moody stared at him for a long few seconds, irritation clear on his face before a flash of realization washed the doubts away.

"Potter." The retired Auror announced, his unblinking magical eye pinning him under a glare. "You were supposed to meet him yesterday, weren’t ya?” After a few seconds of intense staring, Moody finally leaned back, satisfied. “So, he caved in under you, then? Gotta say, I was expecting him to hold out longer. His senior was made of sterner stuff. His mother too, from what little I've seen."

Dumbledore coughed in his fist, gently placing the cup on his desk. "I'm afraid to say you have it quite wrong, my friend. But please, don't let me break your most wonderful theory. Now, to business if you will? There are too many matters needing my attention."

Not that he was particularly stressed about any of them. True, killing a Dementor wouldn’t be an easy task, extracting their ashes even less so, but it would surely be more entertaining than controlling a wild Wizengamot session full of fools and children. Plus, it had been a long time since he last conducted any research, the result of which had earned him the nomination for an Order of Merlin. It would be interesting to shake off the dust from the creative part of his mind again.

‘I’ll have to see if my old lab is suitable for this.’ There was simply no way he was bringing any Dementors in this castle.

Giving another—admittedly well-deserved—look of suspicion, Moody grunted and removed a folded parchment from his inner coat pocket. "Got two new names for ya—Hestia Jones and Nymphadora Tonks. Jones was one of the few Aurors pending a promotion to Senior position before all the bloody Grindelwald drama. She’s now stuck in the reserves 'cause of her ‘age and inexperience’."

Moody snorted contemptuously. “Bunch of bollocks, I tell you. She's a good dueler; tactical and quick on her feet. Solid level five. But Black doesn't want her in the law enforcement squad ‘cause she doesn’t trust her, which is to say she doesn’t trust you. She suspects Jones of being in the Order, I say let's prove her right. The girl’s itching to make a difference, she'll fit right in with the old crowd."

Dumbledore tilted his head, thoughtful eyes fixed on Moody, making no move towards the file. ‘If Bellatrix has grown distrustful of me, it would no doubt be due to Harry.’

Not that he was terribly concerned. As far as he knew, the Order and Ministry were now on the same page. It was only a matter of time before Harry informed the rest.

Hopefully Lily and Bellatrix would rejoin the group. It wasn’t quite the same without the shared camaraderie between Alice and the two ladies; all three amongst the most powerful witches on the planet.

'But how much can I reveal right now?' Dumbledore mused, eyeing Alastor thoughtfully as his mind worked through the possible loopholes in the oaths he'd sworn to Harry last night.

While there was still a gulf of mistrust between them, Harry had seen it fit to relax some of the more chafing rules this morning, though Albus would still need to tread carefully in these unfamiliar grounds. He was already dying through his recklessness; he didn’t need to cut off the little time he had through stupidity as well.

So the question remained…'How much will the oath let me get away with?'

"Albus?" Moody said calmly, his wand poking up from below the desk to aim at him. "You're three seconds away from eating a bone-breaker to the head if you don't stop staring at me like that."

Chuckling, the wizened wizard shook his head, opening the file to take a glimpse within. "Thank you for bringing this to me, Alastor. I'll let Harry know about your suggestions."

There. Careful and cautious does it. He trusted his friend to do the rest.

It was almost comical the way his magical eye jiggled—like a tinkling Christmas Ball—his one natural eye widening to match its size. "...Well, fuck. It wasn't Potter who got bent over yesterday, was it?"

Albus pursed his lips; he could almost feel the magic of the oath softly caressing his heart as he slowly shook his head. “Indeed not, though I must ask you not to make it sound so strange.”

For a few seconds the veteran Auror maintained his intense stare, before finally deflating in his seat with a sigh.

"Merlin, I'm too old for this shit." Alastor dabbed his sweaty forehead, his eye trained on him, looking inexplicably tired. "Just tell me we're in good hands, at least?"

The former Warlock smiled gently, feeling a tad bit guilty. "In the best hands, Alastor. Better than my own.”

Moody harrumphed. "Yeah, whatever. If I can trust you with your pet Death Eater, I can trust you with this…whatever ‘this’ is. But you better be right about him, Albus. I lost my leg to one Dark Lord already. I don't want to get punched in the head by another."

Smirking, Dumbledore picked up his cup. "I assure you my friend, Mr. Potter doesn't make a habit of that. You're more likely to lose your head to the Killing Curse than his fist."

"Merlin damn it, you blithering old fool. He can cast the Unforgivables already? And you actually trust him?"

"I have my reasons." Dumbledore replied in the most infuriatingly mysterious voice possible.

His efforts were rewarded by a twitching face and a rolling eyeball.

"Get fucked, Albus." Moody suggested kindly as he stood up. "Anything else you need me to do? Potter's calling an Auror meeting tomorrow, though only the active ones are invited. I could crash the meeting but I've a feeling it'll be wise not to earn the boy's ire."

"Quite wise, yes. Though I find myself curious, how are people in the Ministry taking his appointment?"

"Good enough, all things considered.” Moody shrugged, leaning over his walking stick. “There was some noise about him not being emaciated but there's no Wizengamot to uphold the laws anymore. Whatever Bones says, goes. The only opinions that really matter now are her’s, Potter’s, and the public’s, and as far as I can tell, all three are fine with it. There’s really not much anyone can do. A couple of Scrimgeour's more ambitious goons did try to sow some chaos, but Bones’ done them a solid by showing Rufus’ apprenticeship documents, which practically declared Potter his successor."

“Really, now?” Dumbledore raised a brow. “Rufus wished to recruit Harry, then?”

“‘Fraid so. The kid hadn’t signed on ‘em, but yeah, the old lion was ready to declare Potter the Head Auror once he became the Minister. It’s ingenious really, any fourteen year old would’ve leapt at it, and Rufus would’ve gotten the final push needed to climb above Bones while placing a pretty powerful pawn in a pretty important position. Heh…you know, I might actually miss the crafty bugger. The Ministry just wouldn’t be the same without him. Not that there’s much of the Ministry left anyway…their entire political system collapsed with Wizengamot's downfall.”

"And no one is blaming Harry for this?"

"Hah! As if! Who's got the balls, you reckon? None, Albus. Not a fucking soul wants to stand against Potter openly. Oh, they're plotting in the shadows, mark my word. But if Potter plays it safe, he'll be holding onto his power for quite some time. He's got the crowd, the Minister, Black and his mother, and now you too. Of course, I doubt the boy’s in the mood to play ‘safe’. In which case he’ll need all the help he could get."

That deserved some more thinking. The final dagger doesn’t always have to be magical, Harry could fall prey to politics just as easily.

Dumbledore leaned back, entwining his hands. "So you're saying someone is already plotting against him."

Perhaps he might take Mundungus up on his more…unethical services then. Assassination had always left him with a bitter taste, but the future Harry had shown him was too grim to take any risk.

"Against him, directly? Naah...but he's not alone is he? Cut a dragon's wings and you'll stop its flight forever. Potter will still be dangerous of course, but he can't fly as high, can he? It's all a game to them, Albus. And they’ve already started playing against their new opponent."

"...Game." Albus snorted, even more disgusted. "They're still treating this like a game."

Moody shrugged. "There's a reason I retired so early, you know. Rufus was good at it, he knew how to shuffle the pieces. I didn't wanna be one, so I left the board entirely. But Potter?...I have a feeling Potter will flip the board over."

Dumbledore quietened for a long moment, glazed eyes frowning into the distance. He knew the older Pureblood families that supported Voldemort would scheme and conspire, but he’d hoped for others to realize the graveness of the situation and rally together behind Harry in times of need. But it seems his confidence in the Wizarding World was once again misplaced. No matter how little his expectations for this country were, the people managed to reach new lows everytime he thought they couldn't possibly get lower.

‘At least I’m not being branded a liar in this reality,’ Dumbledore comforted himself. ‘At least the Magical Britain stands united in the face of a common adversary.’

While he didn't think much of his alternate counterpart, he sympathized with the vexing challenges the man had to face.

The Headmaster sighed, shaking his head as he focused back on the file. "Your other candidate, Alastor…” A chuckle escaped him when his eyes fell on the name. “Nymphadora Tonks?”

“The Metamorph girl.” Moody nodded. “I know she graduated just this year but I'm thinking of taking her in as my protege."

"You, Alastor? A teacher?" Dumbledore stared at the man, amused.

"Oh shut up, you great bloody pimple." Moody grouched. "I need to train at least one competent Auror to take up my mantle. Doubt I'll survive this war for long."

"You will live longer than me, have no doubt." Dumbledore smiled a genial smile. "Nevertheless, I'm happy for you, Alastor. Teaching will be good for you. On that note, have you considered joining Hogwarts as a special instructor this year?"

"Spare me the old pitch, Albus." Moody scoffed. "I'm only taking her 'cause she's worth it. The girl's got a good head over her shoulders, but it's her ability that intrigues me the most. Once properly trained, she'll be able to storm entire castles on her own. Imagine this, a sneaky little Metamorph infiltrates a Death Eater camp disguised as one of their own. Quiet and invisible, she cuts down any who comes in her path and takes the identities of her victims. They'll never suspect a thing. Well...at least, they'll be too dead to do much about it when they do."

"A...very interesting scenario, Alastor, I appreciate the detailed hypothetical battle plan. As I said, I shall let Harry know. I suggested Hogwarts, however, because Harry has already been invested in Ms. Tonks. Why, she's the only Auror permanently shifted here for the year. Specially requested, I might add. Joining Hogwarts would serve both our purposes.

Moody blinked slowly, wiggling a finger inside his ear. "Well shit."

"Indeed."

"The boy works fast, doesn't he?"

"All of his limbs work, unlike ours."

"Huh…what limb did you lose?...Oh don't look at your wrinkly weener, you perverted bastard. Forget I asked."

Dumbledore managed to look offended. "Now, now, let's not go judging people without evidence. For all you know, it might not be as wrinkly as—"

"Shut it, Albus! I don't wanna hear it. Never even try to sully my ears like that again."

Chuckling, the Headmaster acquiesced. "As you wish. Though please do give some thoughts to my suggestion. You won't be obliged to hold regular classes, nor will you have any additional duties. The only thing required of you would be occasional lectures and to relay your practical skills. I dare say the students will appreciate your unique perspective. While dueling has been a large part of the curriculum in Hogwarts, they lack the experience to know just how dastardly this war will be."

"Hmmm…" Moody scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I would be shaping our future soldiers, wouldn't I? Guess it's high time someone gave the brats a kick in the arse. They'll all be on the battlefield sooner or later, it'll be better if they don't accidentally set their friends on fire."

Then he clapped his hands and straightened up. "Well, there you go. Gave your suggestion all the thoughts I could. You'll have your answer by the end of the week. Will there be an Order meeting today?"

"Not today. Hagrid will soon be leaving to negotiate with the giants, though I’ll have to consult Harry if the Ministry is willing to provide support. And let Frank know to expect at least three more members, I dare say the Order will be bigger in the next meeting.”

"Will do. Now if that’s all?”

Dumbledore nodded. “Send my regards to Kingsley.”

“I will.” Moody waved back as he hobbled to the Fireplace. “See you on the ‘morrow, Albus.”

Dumbledore stood up as soon as the retired Auror fired away, stretching his limbs with a great sigh.

While he planned to enjoy himself thoroughly on this research, he wasn't looking forward to spending prolonged time in the presence of Dementors.

‘Oh well…it’s all for the Greater Good.’ Chuckling, the Headmaster called for his Phoenix, disappearing away in its fiery embrace.

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Harry sauntered along the hallways of Hogwarts, mind whirling through all the tasks that needed his attention today, an absent eye keeping track of his target on the Marauder’s Map as she made her way up the floors.

‘Merlin, I’ll need to make a freaking timetable for myself, won’t I?’

That or at least some kind of schedule.

His life was too chaotic a mess right now; there was just too much happening too soon for him to make sense of it without some help.

He wasn’t naive. He knew, even before his appointment as the Head Auror, that he wouldn’t be able to play the simple little Hogwarts’ student in this life, no matter how much a part of him might desire it. But now? When a large section of the British Military was handed directly under his control?...Well, It was a wonder Amelia was even letting him waste any time in the castle at all.

Between his duties as the Head Auror, his Horcrux-Hunting quest, and his new ventures into Elemental magic, he would soon be getting little to no time for his more personal pursuits. There was only so much he could get done with measly 24 hours in a day after all.

‘Maybe if I had a secretary…’ Harry mused absently. ‘A hot, blonde eye-candy who was actually competent in her job…’

Still, he didn’t resent taking on any of these tasks. Especially not his new apprenticeship under Dumbledore. He didn’t fully trust the old man yet, but by Merlin was the wizard competent. They’d spent the entire morning training in the Room of Requirement and he could honestly admit that he learned more about Elemental magic in those 3 hours than he’d done in the last two months by himself. While the Potter grimoire had more than enough for him to get started, it simply couldn’t compete with receiving personal training from a wizard widely regarded to be the most knowledgeable in the Arcane. Naturally, Harry eagerly soaked up every nugget of information parted to him, though a part of him couldn't help but be gratified knowing even Dumbledore was stumped by his progress.

It helped that for some reason his magic was uniquely adaptable to his intent in ways even he was clueless about. He never knew you needed more than just your will to change the shape or power of your spells. Apparently you were not supposed to manipulate the shield charm to the extent that he could without extensive knowledge in multiple subjects, something he very dearly lacked. Dumbledore had theorized the cause to be the soul merging he and Sly!Harry had undergone, but couldn’t conclude with certainty without researching Harry’s magic closely (he was very rudely refused, thank you very much).

They hadn’t spent the entire time on Elemental magic, either. Dumbledore had wanted to gauge his current dueling level, so naturally he ran Harry through his paces, proving with absolute certainty why the man held the title for the most powerful wizard alive.

There was no doubt that Harry wasn’t even close to Grindelwald’s level yet. Had things not worked out so well in his last fight—had the Dark Lord not been as lax as he was, had the Delacours not taken care of Grindelwald’s thunderbird, had Stella not swept away the stones with her flood, had Lily not launched that absurdly overpowered attack—Harry’s reckless charge would’ve been the end of him.

It was foolish, he admitted freely, running at one of the most powerful Dark Lords like a child at the candy store. Lady Luck herself had come forward to make things as perfect as possible for him to deliver his now-iconic punch to the Dark Lord’s noggin. Without them, even with his raw power, Harry doubted he’d have survived more than the first two waves of Grindelwald’s rather casual attacks.

‘God bless arrogant Dark Lords and their penchant for underestimation.’

Still, seeing how swiftly Dumbledore was able to put him on the defensive had been slightly disheartening. Even with all his agility and casting speed, Harry had been barely holding onto the duel by the skin of his teeth. He was competent enough to sense the magic within most of the spells, identifying them fast enough to separate the mundane spells—which he dodged like a slippery eel—and the more advanced magic, which he had no choice but to face head-on. But out of everything his mentor demonstrated, it was his sheer speed and casting skill that left him awestruck.

Watching someone slowly peel you apart like an onion was an experience he’d rather not repeat. He’d used every trick up his sleeve to survive the hurricane named Dumbleodre, from transfigurations and conjurations to advanced charms and spells; and yet, the Headmaster had an answer for everything. His raw power was not much help here either, for the Supreme Mugwump simply matched him, or even exceeded him in this regard. Even his natural instincts were rendered useless due to the completely open nature of the room in which they fought.

This was his first time watching an opponent mix Elemental magic with mundane spells to such a masterful degree, creating a perfect symphony of raw power and versatility. From what he’d gathered, Grindelwald had only used his Elements to battle the Aurors. According to Dumbledore, the Dark Lord hadn’t taken them seriously at any point in the fight. His job was simply to complete his vows and help resurrect Voldemort; he'd never meant to eliminate his fellow Dark Lord’s enemies for him. When he did decide to get slightly more serious, the price was paid with the lives of James Potter and Scrimgeour.

At least now he knew just where he stood in the grand scheme of things. At least now he knew exactly what he must improve upon. He was far from being able to cast Elemental magic wandlessly, but he had a goal to strive for.

Dumbledore had freely admitted his confidence in facing either one of the Dark Lords and coming out on top. So long as Harry came to match the old man's prowess, he should be able to face the Dark Lords and hold his own comfortably. Currently he was just a strong level 6, but with the rituals' enhancements and Elemental magic, he should theoretically be capable of matching the titans.

‘But it’s not enough.’ Harry sighed, grimacing. ‘Not nearly enough. I have to be much stronger than that. Much stronger than Dumbledore.’ That was where the true challenge lay.

Nevertheless, he had time. And he had allies. He would tackle everything one at a time…

…Starting from the chaos currently raging around him as he entered the more crowded part of Hogwarts.

Whispers and finger pointing were aplenty, as were the occasional calls for autograph. The most disturbing had to be the wide-eyed, glazed stares from those he knew in his past life, those who’d been brave and stood by his side, unflinching and strong. There was no sign of such bravery here. No familiarity. Only hesitation—like most of the Castle's population—on how to treat him; a normal Hogwarts’ student some had seen in passing for three years, now suddenly the global hope for salvation. He could understand the hesitation…but the starstruck, awed gazes were too much, bringing back annoying memories from a past better laid buried.

'...Now I remember why I used to hate my fame so much.'

It had its uses, sure, but he wasn't insecure enough to need anymore ego-boosting, so all the calls and screams and stares simply ended up being irritating. Mind-numbingly irritating.

There were even a few mouthy bastards who voiced their doubts about his prowess loudly enough for him to waste a couple of minutes making an example out of them. However, it was well worth it for the sudden quiet that encompassed the corridors, the hush of shaky nerves when they realized he wasn’t their peer and wouldn’t be acting like it. He noted with amusement the one girl who’d been dramatically screaming, 'Please, Great Auror! Save me!' suddenly ducking down her rapidly reddening face with a wince.

‘I’ve got my work cut out for me, haven’t I?’ Harry sighed, wondering exactly how he was going to strengthen Hogwarts this time.

He couldn't imagine having enough time to form the DA again—not that he’d ever name it that again. Thankfully, there was time yet for that as well. And with Dumbledore’s authority at his disposal, he might even make it something more official than a secret club.

For now, however, there was one thing that needed his supreme attention; his perfectly good plan to surprise Nymphy.

‘Should probably watch out for a slap heading my way though.'

Entering one of the secret hallways, he cast a quick Notice-Me-Not and Disillusionment charm over himself, his eyes trailing along the Map as he searched for a convenient point to cut off Tonks’ path.

'Third floor.' A smirk tugged up his lips as all the secrets laid bare to him.

Taking off in a quick jog—which may as well have been normal sprinting speed for most—he jumped through the Great Staircase three steps at a time, barely making a note of whisper even as he traversed through crowds of molesters…this time, remaining mostly unmolested.

He had over two hours before Lily's potion class. 'Just enough to take care of my very hard problem.'

It was time to fulfill his glorious purpose. For today.

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No matter how muted, prowling the corridors of Hogwarts shouldn't have brought such a sense of nostalgic giddiness within her heart. She felt it strongly; the sense of homecoming.

Two months. Mere two months it had been since the last time Nymphadora Tonks laid foot within this castle…and yet, it felt like a lifetime. It wasn't truly an exaggeration either; had the day and night not existed to track the time, she'd have thought years to have slipped by unnoticed between then and now.

It was interesting to realise how much difference a couple of months can make. In this brief a time, she'd experienced the best and the worst that life had to offer, from accomplishing some of her most desired dreams to watching some of the others being shattered in front of her very eyes. It was almost as if she'd discovered a brand new world, where all she knew about herself and her life was put through a grinder.

'Is this what it feels like to be an adult?'

Merlin, she hoped not.

Out of the corner of her eye, Tonks spied upon a group of Seventh years, all laughing and bantering, and as carefree as she'd once been. They didn’t see her— hidden beneath the invisibility cloak as she was—leaving her free to stare unabashedly. Some she even recognised, having dueled and defeated more than once.

She doubted she'd ever be as carefree again.

Moving on quickly, she secured the cloak around her and left the spot behind, not wishing to mingle with her old world.

Two months ago, passing the Auror exams had been the focus of her life, the moment she'd felt would define her future; whether to make it or break it. When she'd dreamt of all her problems vanishing away with a snap of fingers, knowing she'd have achieved the only thing she'd ever wanted since childhood…

Now here she strolled, one of the youngest Auror to have ever existed, promoted from Initiate after just a few weeks of service.

And it didn’t even matter.

How many could claim the same as her? She was earning almost 300 galleons per month and was guaranteed to get a raise after just one year of field work. 300 galleons was already more than what most families made in Magical Britain and she was earning it on her own, while having just started upon her career path. And that was without counting all the wide assortment of privileges only a Ministry Auror could enjoy. Her life was secure, she was living the dream of many, and her former peers could only look on in envy.

…And yet, it all felt so meaningless.

Beyond the sense of accomplishment and muted novelty, all she felt was wariness for what was to come, and uncertainty for where her life was headed.

'Am I even the same person anymore?' She couldn’t help but wonder.

Perhaps not. Two months ago, she'd never even have dreamt of cheating on Bill. If anything, a tiny but aware part of her had been waiting for the bastard to show his true colors and catch him in the act. And indeed, she’d done exactly that—or at least, she’d thought so—but never had she imagined answering it by letting a boy she’d barely even known pummel her into the ground…and feeling less and less guilty about it by the day.

The pain of having shattered one of her oldest dreams into pieces by her own hands had slowly but surely disappeared under the memories of abject pleasure that day had brought. Pleasure that she dreamt about every day, when her fingers comforted her.

No. She really wasn't the same. Neither could she hope to be.

The days of her being a bumbling little student in this very castle, worrying about Quidditch, Duelling, homework—not really—and being an overall rule-abiding goody-two-shoes were well past gone. Well...okay, maybe she'd never been the last one either, but the fact remained; the last few months had changed her too much to go back to normal.

Now, she could only continue as she was and let fate guide her through the uncertainty of life.

Shaking her head, she focused back on her job. It wasn’t really much of a job; she honestly doubted her chances of finding a Death Eater crawling through these walls any time soon. Still, Bones was the main boss lady now, and with aunt Bella acting too cagey around her lately, there was no choice but to obey the orders quietly.

‘Why couldn’t I have been on the Warding team instead?’ Nymphadora Tonks lamented, skillfully dodging a gaggle of children whispering excitedly about a ‘Potter’. Nothing new. ‘If anything, the Longclaw boy should’ve been assigned here to handle these babies. The incompetent prick would’ve probably enjoyed it.’

Still, she already knew the most probable reason; a lack of experience. Which was pure bullocks, as far she was concerned. She had more skill in Dueling than most regular level 5 Aurors. Besides, experience was forged on the battlefield, not behind walls so secure they'd remain standing even if Britain fell entirely tomorrow.

As she passed a curiously still picture—even the lazy ones were usually moving—a flash of magic registered in her senses, providing the only warning other than her instincts screamed ‘DANGER!’. She turned instantly, fingers moving straight for her wand—but that was the only action she was allowed. She felt more than saw, a pair of strong hands wrapping around her mouth and waist the next moment, effectively trapping her arms against them.

The attack was sudden and invisible, her mind sullen and distracted. She lost the fight before she could even put up a defence.

Panic tore her heart in two, her startled scream muffled by tightening fingers as she flailed around for freedom. But the strength behind those arms was astonishing, like bars of steel cuffing her securely. She might as well have tried to wrestle a stone golem.

Helplessness and confusion warred within her chest, a large part simply shocked at the audacity of her assailant. 'How the fuck could someone attack me inside this Castle?'

Hell, how did they even know she was present here in the first place!?

For someone to have attacked her specifically, they had to have seen through the Invisibility cloak. The only person she knew capable of such was Mad-eye Moody, but even she could push the crippled Auror down a set of stairs with a single shove.

Her assailant, on the other hand—stopped her knee from crushing his balls—she was fairly certain the bastard was a ‘He’— with a simple slap.

It was completely mind boggling.

Yet, the result was the same.

‘Stupid, good for nothing Nymph!’ She raged within her mind, panic dissolving into anger, as her body was dragged inside the now hollow picture of a dark road. ‘First day on the job and you’ve already mucked things up. Great.’

How could she expect to be allowed into a battlefield when she couldn’t even keep herself safe inside a bloody castle?

Her only defence was that she never could've expected this to happen in a thousand years. Who in their right mind would attack an Auror under the Hogwarts’ roof?

As a last-ditch effort, she tried twisting her fingers loose, just enough to reach her wand held snugly within her Wrist-holster, but her kidnapper seemed a pro in the way he held her, denying any possibility of rebellion.

Before long, she was pressed up against a wall, the picture ‘slash’ hidden doorway closing shut behind with the softest of thuds, leaving her all alone in the darkness with her assailant—who’d already moved to stand behind her. The only source of light was the single burning torch, but with her face smashed up against the cold wall, she could see nothing but shadows and silhouettes.

She tried controlling her breathing, Occlumency helping her calm down and rationalise things. Her attacker had mucked things up big time, no doubt about it. There wasn’t a lot anyone could do inside Hogwarts; not only could they not Apparate away from the inside, but it was also the home of Albus bloody Dumbledore. Grindelwald had outright changed his conquest target from Europe to America due to his sheer presence. The Warlock was most likely already searching for them.

Her attacker had started a countdown, and he didn’t even know it yet. Or, at least, that’s what she said to herself to keep her eyes dry and mind clear of panic.

…That lasted until she felt something long and hard slithering up against her behind. The realisation of what was about to happen pierced the curtain of safety like a sharpened spear daggering straight through her heart.

The fact set in fully: Her heart wasn’t the only thing about to be daggered this afternoon.

'No...' Horror and renewed panic clawed at her soul, tears of desperation finally pricking her eyes. 'No, no please...'

She thrashed against bonds, her teeth trying to bite her captor's fingers, but all she managed to do was press against the hardened length even more, eliciting a groan of pleasure from her violator.

“Fuck Tonks, now that’s just unfair.”

She stilled. That voice was familiar.

And then she heard him whisper in her neck, soft lips slowly trailing down to her collarbone with lingering kisses. "Hello, Nymph. Missed me?"

“Harry!” She growled, and her body was suddenly free.

"The one and only!" His infuriatingly cheerful voice came.

Before she could stop herself, Nymphadora whirled around, her fear and nervousness completely replaced by relief and anger as she stared up at his smug face.

“Uh, surprise?” The boy gave a lop-sided smile, waving at her as if they’d just met at a mall .

"You bastard!" She didn’t even know when she balled up her fist and let loose a punch straight at his nose.

HIs lips tugged in a tiny smirk as he somehow managed to react fast enough—tilting his head by the slightest of margins to avoid her fist, his own palm coming forth to catch it.

“Woah, woah, woah, we’ve got a wild Tonksie over here.” He laughed, dancing away from her other fist. “What’s with the sudden violence? Feeling feisty today? I may have a perfect answer for that.”

“Let me go, you arsehole…” She hissed again, launching a rain of punches over his shoulder. “After two weeks of silence, you greet me like this? What the hell is wrong with you!?"

His smile didn't dim a bit. "I wanted to surprise you again. Guess I succeeded too much this time, huh?"

"Shut up. I hate you."

"Aww, Tonksie. You're gonna break your leader's heart."

"Nothing more than you deserve." She growled, though the latter part of his words stuck in her mind.

Harry Potter was the Head of Aurors now. She’d been trying not to think about it, still not quite used to the fact; but now reality had caught up with her, ending all attempts at blissful escape.

“What are you even doing here?” She asked, trying to avoid the familiar feeling of senselessness and headache that came every time her mind started pondering upon the existence of Harry James Potter…

“Here? As in Hogwarts?” He asked, his smirk turning slightly quizzical. “It seems my performance that night may have created some misunderstandings, but I assure you I’m still very much a Hogwarts' student.”

Of course she knew that! She just didn't think the Head of bloody Aurors would even want to waste his time with a bunch of kids!

The sheer irritation she felt at that moment struck her completely speechless.

“I know. Shocking right?” The prick needled, because of course he did.

“Shut it.” She growled. “If you think I’m going to ignore the fact that you literally dragged me into an abandoned corner after ignoring me for two weeks, then you’ve got another thing coming. You could've at least written to me, you know? A single letter would've been greatly appreciated."

"I was busy!" He defended himself. "Besides, so could you have. Why, you didn't even pay your condolences. My father did just venture onto his next great journey, you realise?"

She deflated, suddenly uncertain. "I know." Her voice was small even to her own ears. "It's just…well you're my boss now, aren't you? I can't just write to you 'cause I want to."

Harry snorted. "Is that the excuse you're going with?"

A thousand different retorts bubbled on her tongue, but the self-loathing part of her mind quickly realised the truth in his words. All her doubts and insecurities returned in a wave of overwhelming emotions. What right did she even have to make such demands of him? He was her superior, and here she was trying to lecture him? He had better things to do than personally write a letter to some random girl who'd promised to blow him.

Tonks deflated even more, mumbling softly, "I'm sorry."

She glanced up at him, suddenly realising how close they stood, his nose almost touching hers. His eyes showed a flicker of surprise, though he quickly shook it away in favour of a smirk.

"Alright, enough of this petty stuff." Harry leaned down suddenly and hooked his hand under her thigh, dragging one leg up as he pressed himself upon her. "Let's do some naughty stuff."

Before she could let out a word of protest his mouth was on hers, lips smashing together in a display of pure lust and need, tongue plundering her mouth in controlled desperation.

His other hand trailed up to squeeze her left teat, and it took all her focus and attention to stop herself from instinctively enlarging them to spill out of his grip. It gnawed at her mind, the urge to thrust her chest out and let him ravish her like he had that day. To relive that maddening pleasure once more, something she'd dreamt about more than once…

She tried to resist. She truly did. But there was something so intoxicating about his touch, something so dominating that shook her straight down to the core. It wasn’t the touch of an inexperienced teen exploring his boundaries, it wasn’t the over-enthusiastic pull of sheer lust, and it certainly wasn’t the forceful tug of a brute..

Gentle yet firm, each finger trailed the length of her body like an artist with a brush. Muscles she wasn’t even aware of relaxed slowly, shuddering to the smouldering heat that spread between her thighs.

When he peeled off her Auror coat, she was painfully aware of Bill’s letter resting heavily in her front pocket, unanswered and forgotten. She’d spent so many days firming her Will, swearing to pull her life back on track, swearing to give Bill a fair chance. Yet, a part of her had always wished to see a different letter in place of Bill’s. Even as she blamed the emerald-eyed calamity for all her problems, a part of her couldn’t help but yearn for his presence.

And now…now she found how firm her Will could last exactly. Under Harry's attention, it crumbled like a sandcastle.

The only thing she accomplished in doing was to battle down her Metamorphic ability; it was a silent protest, a dare even, to him…and to her.

How good was the real Nymphadora Tonks?

Harry didn't bother removing her clothes, bunching up the Auror robes over her arse and sliding down her baggy trousers under her thighs. She was honestly relieved, not wanting to see the disappointment on his face at her obviously disappointing body.

By the time she gave up completely and released her first audible moan through between his fingers, her body was turned around, her face pressed back into the cold wall, her panties already tugged to a side, and she felt his hardened length sawing against her slit.

So there she stood—after all her promises—pushed up against the walls of a hidden chamber, not a word of complaint on her lips as her young boss drove into her from behind, a firm hand squeezing her tits, the other controlling the pace of her hips.

Had she not felt the charms taking ahold of the chamber, she would’ve worried about the entire castle hearing her whorish moans.

But at that moment, she was way past caring.

----------------------------

Her skin was jade smooth, like a polished pearl. Her sweat was the scent of sex, glistening along the delicate curve of her neck. Had Harry not been ravaging her mouth in a battle of tongues, he'd have busied himself in lapping up every drop of her, tasting every corner of her body.

In the dark chamber room, their silhouettes blurred in motion, one hip smashing into the other, perfectly cupping the smaller body. Her baggy trousers were bunched down at her feet, while her silky black panty—shifted to a side to reveal her puffed up flower—rubbed at the side of his shaft every time he thrust inside her with the fury of a god.

She hadn't made any changes to her body this time. He didn't know why exactly, but he couldn't have cared less then. It mattered absolutely not anyway. She was still a bombshell.

Her breasts weren't the enormous melon sized that no hand could ever hope to cup, but two soft balls that filled his palms perfectly. He'd undone the top of her Auror robe—enough to grant his hand entry inside—pawing at her surprisingly perky globes with bliss.

It was a startling thing to realise that the current Nymphadora Tonks reminded him more of Hermione than Bella, Lily, or Amelia—all of whom were gifted with gigantic tracts of lands.

He didn't dislike it. Not one bit. Bit of a surprise really, considering he'd been spoiled rotten by Lily and Amelia, and even Tonks herself.

And yet, he felt his arousal build just as eagerly as ever. There was simply something so satisfying about pounding a half-clothed woman from behind, dressed in those iconic Auror robes with half her tits swinging out, and her pants down by her feet, discarded so carelessly.

It wasn't simply that, however, that reminded him of Hermione. It was the way she moaned in his mouth, her tongue eagerly matching his, her lips mashed against his in a searing kiss, even as he pummeled her against the chamber walls like a cheap whore. Her arse wasn't the huge, jiggly bubble of flesh that it had been the last time, but a more athletic sort; taut and tightly muscled, yet still thick enough to clap against his thighs with every thrust.

Harry loved it. And he loved it ever more as he slid in and out of her tight channels, pummeling her like a wild beast amidst her cries of ecstasy.

"Oh fuck, Harry." His nymph groaned as he let go of her mouth. "Yes, yes, please, I want this. I want this, Harry! Oh Merlin, this is what I need!"

She threw her head back in a cry of pure euphoria, her short hair—now a flaming pink—whipping back at his face.

Harry pulled the offending bunch in a fist, dragging her head back even more while his mouth leapt at the offered slope of her neck. He could feel her throaty moan on his lips and tongue, feel her channels clench around his shaft, feel her legs growing shaky and weak…

And he kept driving inside her with ever growing intensity.

When he finally felt the excitement building in his groin, he quickly removed his shaft from her folds and repositioned it slightly above.

"Wait, Harr—oh fuck, you bastard!"

"Told you I'll claim your backdoor."

The initial excitement of taboo was nothing in front of the amazing pressure he felt as the Metamorph quickly adjusted the size of her behind. Nymphadora Tonks might be the only being capable of accepting his length down her arse without being torn apart in two, and he took advantage of the fact with absolutely no inhibitions. More than that however, the idea of claiming someone's arse with no lube or preparations became the last thing to make the experience one of the most memorable.

He didn't know how long he spent running the Metamorph ragged, stretching her holes to new, untouched limits, but by the time he found his relief, the girl was no longer capable of standing on her feet.

In just this one month, the number of times he'd had sex, been pleasured in the purest physical form, was almost insurmountable. Yet, Harry wholeheartedly believed it would never grow old or any less pleasurable.

Was it a wonder why?

----------------------------

"Git."

The aftermath of their coupling session was a lot less exciting.

Chuckling, Harry continued pulling his pants up. "Hey, I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think you could handle it. It's a compliment, really. A back-handed compliment. Get it?"

He had to dodge a curse for that.

"Git." She repeated again.

Ignoring the girl, Harry focused on getting dressed. 

"Oh, and I have to ask..." Tonks called suddenly. "Are you the reason I'm stuck in the castle?"

"Why, indeed Ms. Tonks." Harry gave a solemn nod. "I've decided to give you the great honor of protecting my humble personage. I hope you do it with great pride and even greater enthusiasm."

Her left eye twitched. "I almost hate you. Like, it's on the tip of the iceberg, a push and I'll definitely hate you. You do know you're really holding me back here, right? I'm worlds away from the true action. The other recruits will all be gaining so much experience in this time."

Harry smirked. "Oh, you'll be getting plenty of action, don't you worry. Every day, if I had my way."

"Harry, be serious for a moment." She snapped irritably, before suddenly growing quiet. When she spoke again, there was an odd inflection to her tone that he couldn't help but pick up on. "What are we, anyway?"

His hands stilled for a second. "We?"

"Yes, 'we' mister. What's our relationship."

Harry shrugged. "You've broken up with Bill, haven't you?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, just think of me as an upgrade." He gave her a wink.

In hindsight, he probably should've been a smudge more serious. Still, the look of anger that entered her eyes felt a tad bit too unreasonable.

"Do you love me then?"

He consciously stopped his eyes from widening. 'Love?'

Where the fuck did 'Love' come from?

"Tell me then, Harry." She urged mockingly. though her eyes were growing heavier. "If you're so confident in replacing Bill. Do you love me? Care for me? Or do you just want a pretty Metamorph in your pocket? A portable sword-swallower you can use whenever you want." She finished bitterly.

Harry hesitated, suddenly very conscious that this was not the Tonks that he knew. This was a much younger Tonks, one he was barely beginning to know.

"That's right, isn't it?" She mistook his silence as an answer, chuckling despairingly. "You actually just want a physical relationship."

'Well, yeah. That's what we agreed on, didn't we? That's what you wanted as well.' Harry grimaced, though he knew voicing the thoughts would be the height of folly.

It wasn't entirely true, he did want to get to know this Tonks, but that was due to the history he shared with her alternate self. From her perspective, physical relationship should've been all he wanted. Why then, was she acting like a woman scorned?

"Listen, Dor—"

"Don't!" She snapped. "Just...just don't."

Harry sighed. "I don't get it. Why are you talking about love right now? You don't even know me."

Tonks shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "Yeah, I really don't, I guess."

Harry pinched his nose as she too hurriedly started getting dressed.

He knew he'd messed up pretty badly right now, but there was simply no way he was proclaiming his love for someone he'd barely met for more than half a day. Love was something he genuinely treasured, so even the thought of lying seemed utterly disgusting to him. 

He was also fairly certain Tonks didn't actually love him. And unless she'd been spying on Sly!Harry for the last few years—which would be really creepy—there was no possible way for her to even know him.

And besides, he already had his eyes on a couple of women. Well, he had more than just his eyes on one of them, but the fact remained, he needed to figure out the mess his life was becoming before going around proclaiming his love to every girl he banged.

Still, it would've been rude to let the silence do the talking.

So he popped up a proposal. “How about a date?”

She blinked, glancing up. “...What?”

“You know, to get to know each other. A date.”

She snorted. “I don’t want your pity date. I’m not that desperate.”

Harry suppressed the beginnings of irritation. He liked to think he knew women enough to not be an oblivious fool, but sometimes they really didn't make any sense.

“It’s not a pity date,” He replied with a roll of his eyes. “And I can just order you to spend time with me, Ms. Tonks. Wait, no, that’s already your job."

"Whatever. You know what? I don't care anymore. If a whore is what you want, a whore is what you'll get."

And with that absolutely perplexing statement, Tonks stormed off. He did not snort when she began limping half-way through, shooting him an evil look and waving her hand at her behind.

Alone in the hidden chamber, Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly, deciding to put the entire situation out of his mind. He had enough problems already, he didn't need to add 'girl problems' to the list. 'Merlin, please let the rest of my day be stress free and normal.'

----------------------------

The whispers, the stares, the subtle finger-pointing...all of it followed him throughout his first day in the Castle. It was all so very familiar that he might as well have gone back to being that lonely little firstie traversing through the halls of Hogwarts, ignorant of all the chaos his future beheld.

Not for the first time did Harry wonder if perhaps he was making a mistake by attending this class. It wasn't the only way for him to meet Lily, and the others were Infinitely more tolerable. At least he wouldn't have to battle the urges to conduct a surprise inspection of all the students, rolling up their sleeves just to confirm no one was doing anything…mischievous.

But there was an even bigger reason for him to miss-out this particular class, something he'd been trying to avoid thinking about since the moment he stepped inside the room. That reason was the two specific pairs of eyes glaring holes in the back of his head. And no matter how much he tried to ignore the familiar figures of a ginger boy and a bushy-haired girl, he couldn't help but find excuses to glance at them.

'They're nothing to me.' Harry once again tried to convince himself, averting his eyes. 'They're not the ones who fought a war beside me. They're not the ones who stuck by my side since we were little bigger than teacups.'

The mantra was losing meaning due to the sheer amounts he'd repeated it in his head, but he still kept at it. 'This Ron didn't die paying for my mistakes. This Hermione could never hope to replace the fierce woman I'd once loved. They're not my friends.'

No, they were not. They were Jacob Potter's friends, and were probably blaming him for the boy's situation. More likely than not, he was their Draco Malfoy; the evil Slytherin who hated their best friend.

The truth of it hit him harder than he'd imagined. Hard enough that he considered simply getting up and leaving.

Still, it would've been rude to leave the class after seeing Lily's face lighting up like a Christmas tree upon his entrance. Though he did wonder once more on where her sudden hesitation to meet his eyes for longer than a few seconds came from. She was acting like she had the day after their first session of fucking.

'Did something happen last night?' Harry mused absently as they shuffled to one of the tables, glad to have something more interesting to focus upon. 'Something jogged her memory maybe?' He would need to find out soon.

He barely had an idea of what was going on with Lily and the Void. It wouldn't do to let her fall into an uncertain abyss.

"I think I get why you don't want to attend classes now." Blaise whispered beside him as they settled their potions' equipment down. "Five minutes with you and I'm already feeling naked from all the stares. And here I thought I had it tough after half the school kept bugging me about you. You owe me for that, by the way."

Harry quirked his lips up, happy for the distraction. "I'm glad you finally understand the heights of my sacrifice, but I’d rather you not feel ‘naked’ when sitting beside me. You may be my friend but don’t get any ideas."

"Prat." The boy elbowed him lightly. "Just for that, I'm not prepping the ingredients this time. Besides, you should be more worried about Malfoy than me. He's been staring at you for five minutes straight, and guess what? Not a hint of anger."

Without wanting to, his eyes flickered towards the blonde ponce…and landed straight into a pair of very conflicted gray eyes gazing back at him. The moment he realized he'd been caught, Malfoy averted his face like a shy maiden.

It was a good thing Harry didn't have water in his mouth, or it would've been sprayed all over his neighboring tables, probably ruining more than a single potion.

"Well…" He let out an incredulous breath. "That's certainly a big change."

This world was never going to stop giving him surprises it would seem. ‘Merlin, please don’t tell me all the bullying Malfoy did was to get Sly!Harry’s attention.’

He shivered.

Blaise shrugged. "Yeah, I know. Creepy right?"

He grunted.

Thankfully Lily started the lesson then, giving him a much better distraction from all the terrifying prospects that were popping up in this class.

Time proceeded normally after that, and he got to show off some of the advanced tricks he’d picked up from the Half-blood Prince. Considering the prodigious reputation Sly!Harry already had, Blaise didn't suspect a thing.

Still, he was glad that the boy was his partner, picking up his slack whenever Harry found himself distracted by Lily. Which was a lot, simply because he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. It was a good thing that Tonks had taken off the edge of his lust, as the Hogwarts robes barely did anything to hide away her curves.

It was a nice change of pace from all the stress he’d accumulated in the last few days, though a part of him couldn’t help but silently wail at all the time he was wasting for absolutely no reason. Knowing exactly how many tasks needed his attention, it would've been smarter to first calculate just how many hours he could realistically afford to squander.

That same part, however, couldn’t compete against the fact that he spent infinitely more time on satisfying his bodily urges whenever it struck his fancy. And it struck his fancy often enough to leave a pair of horny rabbits in shame.

Sighing, Harry pushed away all the unneeded worries with a practiced flare of Occlumency, letting himself be distracted as Neville's cauldron burst out in a beautiful sparkle of explosion, gifting all those who inhaled the fumes some insidious looking black welts.

Absently waving his wand, he created a bubble of protection around their table. 'I really do need a secretary to manage my schedule it seems.'

For some reason, he was looking forward to the interviews.

----------------------------

Harry held back a sigh of relief as the gong’s echoes finally brought an end to the lesson. It wasn’t that he didn’t have fun showing exactly how far he outstripped his peers, but his urge to have some alone time with Lily—and forget the existence of his two former friends—was simply much stronger.

As their redheaded professor called for the potions to be delivered—having remained oddly professional with him throughout the period—Harry remained seated back, packing up his potion's equipment leisurely.

His friend glanced back at him, but Harry waved him away. Giving a nod of understanding, Blaise submitted their potion and forcibly herded the crowd of sheeple—all no doubt waiting to bother him with their unwanted selves—out of the class. The boy seemed to have gained some authority simply by sticking around him and the crowd soon dispersed—with Ron, Hermione, and Malfoy showing the greatest resistance, something which greatly disgusted both the parties—finally leaving him alone with his dear mother.

With his eyes religiously pinned to the target of his curiosity, Harry stood up and made his way to the top-most table, giving an absent wave of his wand. The lone door clicked shut, cutting off the final notes of the students’ drifting voices.

A sudden silence followed the loud wooden clack of the door—its last echoes robbing Lily of her last excuse, forcing her to acknowledge his presence. Stunning emerald eyes met his, reluctant and hesitating. Even slightly nervous.

For some reason, the look on her face made a deep desire ignite within his chest. As if he were looking upon a helpless prey, waiting to be pounced upon. It was made even more intense by the Hogwarts robe loosely wrapped around her. Knowing she was a teacher, and technically had authority over him, birthed the same kind of fire within him that Amelia Bones had.

He'd only noticed recently, but the idea of claiming a woman in greater position seemed to hold a powerful sway over Harry.

A smile threatened to twist his face, dangerous and challenging, and it took him actual effort to force it down.

It had barely been an hour or two since he'd finished railing Tonks into the hidden Chamber’s walls, but he could still feel himself hardening rapidly. There was just something about Lily that could never be replaced by any other woman in his life. Something about her that never failed to arouse him.

Even though he’d already traced and tasted every curve of her body, his heart just couldn’t get enough of her, never failing to awaken the familiar need within him.

It could be that he simply preferred redheaded, busty women above all else; Ginny could certainly lend credence to that.

It could be the unconditional love she showered upon him whenever she got the chance, twisting his heart with desire to deepen their relationship even more. It could even be the taboo of incest—no matter how technical—the thought of banging his biological mother may have formed a new kink within this life.

Or perhaps—and most likely—it could simply be to see Lily finally fall completely. To see her abandoning her morals and laws without the aid of magic. While he wouldn't deny the pleasure he’d derived from satisfying the shameless need of her less-moral and much-wilder self, the idea of conquering this hesitant, uncertain Lily held an entirely different attraction.

The true Lily, as far as he was concerned. The Void element may be a part of her, but it also took away from what made her the woman he’d grown to care for.

A part of him knew, if seen through squinted eyes, his actions with Void Lily could almost be taken as rape against the real one. Technically, they were both the same, but Lily didn't have any control over herself when in that particular state. For all he knew, Lily's morals could be too rigid to act upon her innermost desires, and he may simply be taking advantage of her helpless state to satisfy his own lust.

The truth might even break her.

That same part, however, also realized it was just his own doubts speaking, and Lily might very well be aware of her own lust. But the doubts held enough truth for him to be a touch more…uncertain.

Of course, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t screw the absolute daylights out of her when she lost control again.

But should he lay with her as she is, should the woman who saw him as her son break the bonds, break her rules and laws and morals…all his doubts would be washed away.

He would be claiming every inch of Lily, accepted by every part of her.

Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be happening any time soon. As he closed the distance between them, her eyes still held some of the earlier hesitation.

He wasn’t truly complaining though. The chase was simply a part of the process, and he’d be enjoying it for all it was worth.

"Harry.” Hesitant though she may be, let it not be said Lily loved him any less. Her inner struggle lasted but for another moment, the war behind her eyes forcibly suppressed under a smile; teasing and radiant. “The lesson wasn’t too boring for our savior, was it?"

He answered by leaning down.

She had only enough time to widen her eyes before being trapped between his arms.

“Good evening, Professor Potter.” He muttered in her neck, letting the crook of his elbow ‘innocently’ wrap around her breast, squeezing through the thin black robe. “I hope you’re having a marvelous day. And yes, I found your teaching to be most exquisite.”

She stiffened slightly in his arms—her breath hitching noticeably—before finally, with excruciating slowness, she melted in his embrace.

"My day is much better now." Lily murmured in his ears, the tenseness finally disappearing. "It wasn't as good before."

"A job well done then." He couldn't quite keep the smirk out of his voice as he finally released the woman free, straightening up. "That was a better hug than the last time, wasn’t it? At least I didn't hear another complaint."

"Hmm…" She stared at him imperiously, eyes dancing with mirthful judgment. "I would say it's an improvement. Now if it was a bit longer, maybe it could’ve been even better. Maybe…"

"My, such high expectations.” Harry sighed, shaking his head to the heavens. “Will I ever please thee?"

Lily's cheeks coloured up, the hesitation returning like it had never gone. Blinking rapidly, as though to banish away the conjured images, she started packing up the potion samples and her equipment without meeting his eyes.

'...I feel like we're back on square one again.’

He had an inkling of what might be going on, but he was neither an expert on the Void element nor a Master of Psychology. He could only make educated guesses.

Still, he didn't allow the silence between them to stretch for long.

"So you know…I met Dumbledore last night."

The doubts and hesitation vanished at once, her eyes leaping up to him in an instant, demanding answers.

Harry chose his words carefully. The Potter family had been wary of Dumbledore since way before his arrival, he couldn’t afford to make matters even worse.

"He's...on our side." He said, still somewhat uncertain. Dumbledore was too complicated a matter to put into words easily.

Concern and alarm flashed on Lily’s face. "Harry, I can't stress this enough—Dumbledore cannot be trusted. If it wasn't for him, you would've—"

"I know, I know." He placed a comforting hand over her shoulder, squeezing gently. "Believe me, I don't trust him either. Well...not fully, at least."

She opened her mouth again, but he quickly rode over her. "But you really don't have to worry about him tricking me, Lily. He's tied by an Unbreakable Oath.”

Her brows jumped up in an animated display of surprise. She most likely knew more about the Unbreakable Vow than him.

“Just know that he'll be working in our best interest till the end of his days.” He continued. “Him and the whole Order. Attending a meeting or two wouldn’t cause any problems now."

“I see.” She grew quiet for a moment, before lightly shaking her head. "Well, I trust your judgment. But please be careful, love. Our enemies don't always come from the front." She glanced up at him, her hand coming to rest upon his. "And if you need me for absolutely anything, anything at all, never hesitate to ask."

Harry smiled, leaning down to place a kiss on her cheek. "I will keep that in mind."

She glanced away quickly, a pretty blush climbing over her neck. He didn't get the feeling of an uncertain hesitation like before however, so he counted it as an absolute win.

'Nice recovery.' He resisted the urge to pay himself on the back.

"Say, Harry…what are you doing this evening?" Lily asked after a moment of silence, twirling a lock of crimson hair around her ring finger. "We have this…tradition, you see. Whenever I'm at Hogwarts—usually as a temporary teacher—we spend the evening together. Your sisters, I, and—" She stilled, her face darkening momentarily before she quickly shook it off. "Well, your sister and I. A special family time, if you will."

She finally turned to face him, an old, desperate hope seemingly coming alive. "I'll be here the entire year this time. If you can make some time for your sisters and poor mother, I'm sure we will all appreciate it." She seemed to hesitate for a brief second, before forging on. "It will truly mean a lot."

Harry didn't need to think much.

"I would love to, Lily. Though I might be late today, gotta run off to the Ministry right now. I was planning to spend the night at Potter Manor, give some company to Bella and Apolline, but this works out fine too. Maybe I’ll join them tomorrow."

A frown furrowed upon her pretty face, disappearing away just as quickly. "Bella and Apolline?" She muttered under her breath, quiet enough that he'd never have heard without his augmented senses.

"That is a good idea.” She said after a moment. “I will likely join you as well. Oh, I do have to thank you for assigning Nymphadora here, Harry. She has always been close to the girls. I'm sure they'll appreciate her presence."

Harry coughed. "Glad to be of service."

With another quick kiss to the cheek and a last wave, he bid his lovely mother farewell.

----------------------------

“You’ve been quiet lately. Something happened?”

It shouldn’t have irritated him. It shouldn’t have made him snap at one of the few friends he still had.

Yet, Draco Malfoy soon found himself staring at the speaker with a sneer. “How wonderfully perceptive of you, Nott. How could you have possibly come to that conclusion?”

He regretted it almost immediately. Theodore Nott was every bit a pureblood as him. He was also one of the few in Hogwarts that Draco considered an equal, and one of the few he would call a true friend.

But Draco was also a Malfoy and apologizing was not in their nature.

‘Still begged him on your knees though, didn’t you?’ His own treacherous mind needled him, contemptuous and mocking. ‘Where was your Malfoy pride then?’

“Oh it was pretty easy to conclude actually,” Nott replied blandly, eyes utterly unamused. “Seeing you mop around like a child may have something to do with it.”

Draco closed his eyes and accepted the rebuttal quietly. He may not apologize but he knew when to pick his fights.

‘Do you though?’

He shut off his mind with some effort. Not for the first time Draco found himself cursing for not having put in the appropriate work on Occlumency. It could’ve saved him a whole lot of trouble.

Opening his eyes, he glanced at the ones gathered around him. The unhinged eyes of the Carrow twins, the clueless faces of Crabbe and Goyle, the subdued shoulders of Pansy, and the slightly concerned Theo…

‘These are the only ones I have now.’ He reminded himself, bottling up his irritation. Alienating them would be the height of folly.

“Don’t mind me, Theo.” Draco sighed, deflating in his seat. “I’ve been given a rather undesirable task by Father.”

His friend looked a tad bit curious but he really had no interest in explaining that right now.

Subtly, he spied upon Greengrass and her friend sitting by themselves at the adjacent corner of the Common room. From the occasional glances Davies shot at the entrance door, it was clear they were waiting for the same thing.

Not that he cared about their motive too much. His eyes were rather busy doing their ritualistic inspection of the blonde beauty. To call her the most beautiful girl in their year wouldn’t be an exaggeration anymore. Her half-blood friend might be a tad bit prettier but there was no doubt in his mind that Daphne Greengrass was the most attractive female in Hogwarts…bar perhaps a couple of seniors.

‘Why couldn’t Father arrange for her as my fiancee instead?’

While he hadn’t understood his feelings last year, he could see now that a large part of his motive for making an utter fool out of Potter had been due to the amount of attention the girl paid him. He’d been unknowingly jealous of the bookworm, and had paid special attention in making Potter look as weak in front of her as possible. Though he doubted knowing that would’ve managed to erase the twinge of jealousy from within his heart anyway, especially when Potter became even more of a genius out of nowhere, not just being the top student in Slytherin but in their entire bloody year. He knew, logically speaking, that Daphne was most likely manipulating the boy in hopes of snagging a bloody Potter, but that had done nothing to curb his irritation—the outlier for which was, naturally, Potter.

‘Makes sense why he beat you like a house-elf, doesn’t it?’ Draco clenched his fist, jaw clicking shut. ‘Even though the Carrows hurt Zabini the worst, you were the one who paid the most. You were the one he humiliated the most.’

The worst thing was knowing that Daphne probably enjoyed the show.

Not for the first time did Draco find himself cursing his rotten luck and even rotten younger self. If only he hadn’t been a thick-headed, ignorant lump of a fool, she might’ve actually been willing to look at him without murder in her eyes.

As if sensing his gaze, the girl suddenly whirled around, meeting his eyes with all the coldness of a glacier. Heat rushed up his cheeks and he involuntarily jerked away, feeling his heart racing within his chest faster than any Firebolt could hope to.

From the askance frown Theo was shooting him, his actions hadn’t gone entirely unnoticed either.

Draco winced, awkwardly scratching his chin before he caught himself. ‘Great. Now I’ve suddenly forgotten how to act like a Malfoy as well.’

Making a complete fool of himself was just the way he wanted to start off his year.

‘At least I’m not as bad as Potter was last year.’

Though that thought did not bring the usual comfort this time. Comparing himself to Potter now would only serve to torture his soul even more, especially knowing what task was ahead of himself. The only good thing to come out of this was that the new Potter seemed to have no interest in Greengrass, and if rumors about him and Delacour were true then he wouldn’t ever have one.

Something that was completely fine in Draco’s book. ‘He can waste his time on that half-breed Veela creature for all I care…’

“So this task, Draco…” Pansy’s voice broke him out of his reverie and he turned to his fiance, feeling a tad bit guilty.

What would she say if she knew his line of thoughts? Surely nothing good. Honestly, Pansy deserved better than him. She was attractive enough to have been asked out by some of the senior Slytherins, and there was a time when he’d been smug as a pie for having her in his arms. When his parents had first announced the marriage contract, Draco hadn’t complained much. Alas, his heart seemed to have changed. And now the only thing to matter was that…she wasn’t Daphne.

“Does it have anything to do with Potter?” Pansy asked again, forcing his mind to the one subject he was desperately trying to forget.

He failed horribly.

Draco slumped down lower in his seat, Daphne all but forgotten. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

‘How did things go so wrong?’ He lamented sullenly, staring into the fireplace with unblinking eyes.

The leaping heat felt oddly ominous on his face, its crackles casting a hypnotic cover over his heavy mind as he relived the painful memories of that fateful day.

Just a month prior, the worst day of his life had been when he'd lost three duels in a row to Jacob bloody Potter, losing his position of No.1 Slytherin Dueler in their class to Daphne. It was the day when many had begun doubting his reputation as a fearsome dueler, and he'd intended this year to be the one where he would make a glorious comeback.

So there he’d stood with the Carrows, swallowing his discomfort at their actions, intending to start off the year with a new, ruthless attitude, ready to thoroughly dominate his peers and show them exactly what Malfoys were made of...

Now? Now it all seemed so utterly...worthless.

If someone were to tell him two weeks ago that his 'The Worst Day' title was going to see two new winners in quick succession in the same week, he never would've believed them.

Alas, life never follows one's plans, and he was beginning to see it now. The illusion of control on one's life was just that; an illusion. And those two special days were enough to place this fact firmly in his head, educating him on just how unpredictable one’s life could be.

The first nightmarish day had been the World Cup final. It was strange, truly, how differently he remembered that day when compared to the rest of the world. To others, it was a day of massacre, death, terror, and blood....to him, it was a day of pain, angst, and humiliation.

In hindsight, attacking Zabini to show his new streak of 'ruthlessness' may have been a stupid plan, especially considering how cautious even his own parents always acted towards the Zabini woman. But his hatred and contempt for the Potter nerd had warped his grasp on reality, the want of proving how much better he was to his housemates—cough, Daphne— surpassing his common sense.

Nonetheless, the punishment for his actions shouldn't have come from the weakest member of their group. Certainly not from the muggle-raised village idiot; the scrawny, awkward Potter, who drooled at the sight of the Blonde Ice Queen, and followed Draco’s every order like a loyal puppy. If he'd known that the weaker Potter had truly grown a powerful set of fangs—as all those Newspapers claimed after the European Championship—he never would have stepped out of the line so foolishly.

But he had, and he'd paid for it with his blood, broken bones, and a world of humiliation. The images of that day still hounded him even now; kneeling beneath Potter’s feet, begging and groveling for mercy, while the rest of his classmates—but especially, Daphne—stared on from the side.

The vows of revenge his mother and father promised him—once his friends safely delivered him back to the Malfoy tent—had fallen woefully short to soothe his broken pride and ego. His public defeat to Jacob Potter didn't even matter in front of what he'd experienced that day; being bullied and humiliated, driven to begging on his knees in front of a half-blood...

It certainly qualified as the worst day of his life. And he genuinely believed nothing could ever match it in the future. He’d sworn he would never let anything like that happen to himself ever again...

Until a week later.

When his father called him in the office for their usual session on Political discussions, he could never have dreamt how badly his promise to himself was about to be broken…

And he remembered it in his mind. Every single second of it, clear as the day.

One thing he’d always known about his father was that he never lost control of himself. He held himself to a strict standard, policing his emotions with an iron fist, and that included never acting upon greed, lust, anger, or hunger.

That day was different. Father was drunk.

"Draco." His words were slurred, pupils wide and wild. An empty bottle lay carelessly spilled on his desk. "Sit."

Taking care to put a lid on his emotions, Draco sat down opposite his father, forcibly maintaining his silence.

“I’ve asked you here for a…” Lucius trailed off, closing his eyes as if shielding himself for something heavy. “A favor. A request. And a hope."

Something was wrong, Draco knew it in his heart. Lucius Malfoy doesn’t ask for a ‘favor’. He doesn’t make requests. And he certainly doesn’t act upon hopes.

‘Something terrible has happened.’

"The Dark Lord…" Lucius swallowed thickly, and Draco knew his world was about to become a whole lot more complicated. "He's…he’s not happy with us, Draco. Hasn't been for a long time."

His father's words were enough to split his chest with alarm, but it was the blatant fear he displayed that showed Draco how grave matters truly were.

Malfoys weren't supposed to show fear. Malfoys weren't supposed to show weakness. And Malfoys certainly weren't supposed to paw at a half-filled wine glass with shaky, desperate hands.

It was all wrong. Like a bad dream that refused to end. An unending nightmare that went on and on.

"You must understand, son. The Malfoy line shall go extinct if the Dark Lord wishes it so. And he wishes it so, Draco. Oh how dearly he wishes for it, son. We made a huge mistake, Drake, and I'm afraid you too will be paying the price beside us."

Draco didn't trust his voice then. Didn't want to think of all the implications his father's words were birthing within him. All the thoughts of revenge and self-respect had left him entirely as he stared at his father with wide eyes.

A punishment from the Dark Lord could only end one way.

"What happened?" He finally found his voice, hating how weak and wobbly it sounded to his ears. "What happened, Father? What mistake are you talking about?"

"Our mistake." Lucius pointed at himself slurrily.. "Your mother and mine…we made the mistake of ignoring the Dark Lord, Draco. The only thing that kept us from suffering his wrath was my position in the Ministry and Hogwarts, and our considerable wealth. But we possess none of it now. He’s drained us of the gold, and my power holds no meaning anymore. Potter’s made sure of that."

Draco fidgeted in his seat, heart in his throat now, hands cold and clammy.

But one thing was clear to him, from all his father's ramblings…"He is about to punish us."

There was no doubt about it.

It was only confirmed when his father nodded. "He's given us a last chance to prove ourselves but it is all just a sham. He wants you, Drake. He will punish you to punish me, giving you an impossible task to complete. Perhaps even something as absurd as killing Dumbledore. And once you fail…he will kill us all. Worse, he will make an example out of us, making the Malfoys a dishonored name far and wide. Everything…everything I’ve built…gone to waste."

“Then I must simply not fail.”

“No, you foolish boy!” Lucius suddenly snarled, fists thumping down on the table. “The Dark Lord doesn’t care if you pass or not, he simply wants to torture us!”

Draco barely stopped himself from flinching back as spittle went flying from his father's mouth.

"No." Lucius slumped down in his seat, as if he'd lost all his strength. "Our time with the Dark Lord is at an end. But one does not simply stop being a Death Eater on a whim. Lord Voldemort will not let his toys slip out of his hands so easily. We must find a new patron, but there are only three beings in this world capable of going against the Dark Lord. And I am not so eager to exchange my leash for a different master, so Dumbledore and Grindelwald are out as options. That leaves only one."

Draco knew the answer already, and the bitterness his father's vitriol had suppressed came out in full fore as he spat the name out. "Harry Potter."

Lucius nodded. "Lord Potter. With the Ministry's backing, he alone is capable of providing us a semblance of protection. So go. Go to Potter, on your knees if you must, and beg!"

"B-but, but he—"

"I don't care what he did! Do you genuinely believe that we can act against Potter right now!? No, you foolish boy! Forget what he did to you!”

“But, you promised—”

“Forget my promise! Draco, do you not realize our situation yet? You will not act against the boy! Apologize instead, for having troubled him with your worthless self. Offer him money if he wants it, offer yourself as a servant if he asks, Merlin, offer up the Parkinson girl if he seeks comfort! And if he wants you to watch on your knees as he takes your fiance, then that is what you will do, Draco. Just…just convince him to save you, at least. Declare your innocence, play to his kindness! Because if not...if not, our days are numbered, my son. Yours, mine, your mother's...the days of Malfoys are numbered. Both sides hate us, our wealth has been taken from us, our dignity stolen...we have nothing left to give. So if the boy does ask for something, we must do everything in our power to give it to him."

The words were like a blanket of cold water over his head. Never had Draco felt such stark trepidation and disgust as he did now, hearing the absurdity coming out of his father's mouth.

'It is the Alcohol.' Draco tried convincing himself. 'Alcohol has addled his mind.'

Thankfully, he knew just the words that can return a Malfoy back to his faculties.

And so he dared voice the words he would've never dared utter before. "You will give up your pride, father?" He let genuine derision color his tone. "Is that what Malfoys do now?"

"No, son." His father's reply was shockingly solemn, and only a fool would believe him drunk. "We survive."

“Survive as what, Father?” Draco found himself questioning the man for the first time in his life. “Do you mean for us to live like a bunch of mudbloods? Hiding away from the magical world like insec—”

“Careful, Draco.” His father cut him off with a hissing whisper. “If death is what you seek, I won’t stop you. Your mother isn’t too old to bear me more children. Never think yourself irreplaceable. The Malfoy line shall continue on, with or without you.”

The words stunned Draco into a stupor, each one like a heavy blow of hammer to his heart. He felt his eyes burning as the meaning settled over him fully, the fire in his chest like a living volcano.

For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy realized how horrid an existence it would be to have his father disregard his life as unimportant.

“Don’t let that happen.” Lucius turned away then, barest hints of guilt in his eyes. “Go. You’re a Slytherin, are you not? Think of ways to repair your relationship with Potter. You have a year to decide and act. Let us pray the Dark Lord doesn't change his mind before then.”

He had just enough strength to nod and drag his feet up to move out. By the time he heard the door slamming shut behind him, he was running straight to his room, heart hammering like a drum with unmatched tempo.

He'd felt his life crumble then, and it was undoubtedly the worst day he'd ever experienced.

So here he sat, waiting for the boy he’d tormented over the years in Hogwarts, waiting for the one who’d delivered the greatest humiliation of his life, and knowing there was nothing he could do about it, for he must beg and bow to earn his favor…

There were two days in his life that Draco knew to be the worst. But now he had a feeling that his entire coming existence may be made up of those days.

And all he could do was…survive.

----------------------------

"Twenty-three arrested in three days." Amelia Bones intoned, eyes trailing along the report beneath her. "You’re really wanting to make a statement, aren’t you?"

She glanced up just in time to catch the tight smile flashing on the face of her DMLE head.

"Of course.” Bella's voice was cold, violet eyes staring at her with disturbing intensity. “Can't let those pesky worms meddle in the war, can we?"

For some reason, she had a feeling her friend didn’t really care about them at the moment.

Dread began to pool up in her belly. Her instincts were warning her of danger, of a battle that was inevitable, and that feeling only increased with every passing second as she stared at Bella carefully.

There was a clear and unmistakable sense of hostility in her friend’s voice. Others may have mistaken it for focus and determination—attributing it to her job and the rising tensions—but even before being elected the Minister, Amelia had spent a vast majority of her time in the Ministry with only Bellatrix as company. She knew her like she’d known her sister. And for someone widely regarded as cold and aloof, Bella had some incredibly visible ticks that betrayed her anger and agitation.

In the end, however, it was her eyes that gave it away; just as cold as her voice, with something ugly hiding behind them. Bellatrix Black looked like a woman about to pass a harsh judgment.

A judgment upon her.

Something was bothering her friend, and Amelia feared she was the cause.

She feared even more the fact that she may know exactly what it was.

Her eyes closed on their own violation for a brief moment, and she had to make a conscious effort to suppress a well-deserved sigh from escaping. ‘Why is this happening right now?’

She knew it was coming, of course. Had known it since the day she’d first writhed in pleasure under her young lover. Hell, a tiny part of her had even enjoyed the thrill of being caught.

That didn’t mean she was the least bit prepared to face it when it was finally staring straight at her.

A dozen different thoughts flashed past her, all searching for a way out of this situation, but she knew how pointless it would be to keep pushing it away.

So she settled on simply ripping the cover off.

"Bella..." Amelia started carefully, staring straight into the judging eyes that made her want to curl up under a rock and die. "Is there something you wish to talk about?"

Regardless of how much she wished to distract her friend and turn away from this subject, something like this simply cannot be allowed to fester and grow. They were in the midst of war and fighting over such petty matters had no place in it.

That didn’t make it any more easier.

Bella folded her arms, snorting contemptuously. "You tell me, Minister. Is there, perhaps, something that I should know?”

Amelia swallowed thickly, feeling her heart sinking. 'Well, fuck.'

For a moment she considered letting Occlumency do the talking, but she knew that would only worsen the situation even more. She wasn’t talking to her Head of DMLE right now, but a concerned guardian with her hackles raised. In the end, it was upon her to face the challenge.

Yet, it was the last thing she wanted to do right now.

“I can’t guess.” Yes, she could. She forced a smile on her face anyway. "Why don't you enlighten me?"

"Hmm," Bella tapped her chin in thought. "Where should I start? Oh, I know! Let's start with my godson."

Of course. Why would she even hope?

‘At least it's only Bellatrix.’ Amelia comforted herself. ‘At least Lily isn’t aware yet.’

And if things went well, she’d keep it that way for as long as possible. She couldn't afford to be admitted in the St. Mungos yet, not in times like these. And Lily would certainly pack her in a matchbox if she knew the truth, without ever giving her a chance to explain.

Not that there'd be much to explain.

Pushing down on a sudden wave of guilt and apprehension, Amelia slowly closed the report without taking her eyes off of the pissed-off Lady Black, "What about him?"

"You know, when you told me you wanted to meet Harry, I hadn't exactly realized why." Bella started, leisurely taking a seat in front of her. "I thought you wanted to interrogate him, ask him his side of things. How he dealt with Grindelwald's men, where he learned to fight like that…but Head of Aurors, Lia? Seriously? He's still in Hogwarts! You really want to squeeze every drop of his fame, don't you? That public speech by him, and then Azkaban's demolition...what was that all about? What else have you two been planning behind closed doors?"

Her breath was ragged and harsh by the time she finished.

Amelia kept her face carefully blank, but the relief almost threatened to flood her soul. Just hearing 'Lia' was enough for her to know that it wasn't the worst possible situation like she'd been imagining.

She wasn't under the threat of a sudden death. Yet.

Though she was careful not to let any of it show up on her face as she addressed her friend.. "...Bella, you've misunderstood the situation completely."

"Well then,” Bellatrix smiled sweetly. “Why don't you enlighten me?"

Amelia huffed, folding her arms, the absence of fear quickly replaced by irritation. "Couldn't you have simply asked Harry before coming here?"

Bella looked sheepish for a split second, though it melted under a hard look. "I'd rather hear it from you."

"Very well then." She took a deep breath, reorganizing her mind. A hard thing to do after such a sudden shift in expectations. "First, let me make this perfectly clear; I have never forced Harry to do anything he doesn’t want to. In fact, every plan till now has been his. I had as much input in them as Scrimgeour or James."

Bella’s eyes went flat.

“Too soon?” Wincing, Amelia leaned back, finally releasing the long-held sigh. "Look, I know how all of this might look from your perspective. I can only imagine what I’d do if it was Susan in Harry’s position, roped into the Ministry by some politician. But believe me when I say this: Harry can handle himself. Hell, everything positive that has happened in our country till now is thanks to him. Without his plans, I would've most likely been stripped of my position by the blackened worms in Wizengamot. Voldemort might’ve already been controlling Magical Britain from the shadows, without anyone’s knowledge. I do not know how your godson knows half the things he does, but I've learned not to look the gift horse in the mouth.

“I won’t sit here and lie to your face by claiming my original intentions to be completely altruistic, because they weren’t. No fourteen-year-old deserved the burden of an entire world’s judgment and expectations. But I did what I felt best back then, and I’ve never once regretted my decision since.”

Though the reason for that may be more than one.

“Frankly, I feel less like a Minister and more like a puppet in your godson’s asinine plans. If anything, you should be defending me from him.” She leaned forward then, speaking hushingly, as if parting from some great secret. “I’ll tell you true, he’s cooking up something sinister in his mysterious cauldron of plots again, and I doubt either of us are going to be privy to that any time soon.”

The last one had the intended effect, and Bella finally slumped down upon the desk, her tension bleeding off into a weak chuckle. "...I can definitely believe that."

Amelia bottled down her relief, leaning back to govern a more serious look. "Good. Because if that's out of the way, I'd like to discuss an actual problem we’re currently dealing with."

Bella waved her on tiredly without looking, face hidden inside the crook of her elbow.

She felt a moment of guilt well up inside her, but the chance to move on from the accursed subject was too sweet to waste.

"Finance."

Bella jerked up, blinking. "You cannot be serious."

“I cannot be more serious. We’re inches away from a major crisis, and I have a feeling your godson wouldn’t have a plan this time.”

It wasn’t that serious in truth, but it was still a problem that needed a quick response. And with her regular bundle of ‘advisors’ no longer in the Ministry, there were few people she could turn to or trust.

“What exactly are we talking about here?” Bella asked suspiciously, looking ready to dip.

Amelia sighed. Now this was the woman she knew and loved. “Do you even know the effects Wizengamot's absence has brought on our economy?"

"How am I supposed to know that?” Bella folded her arms defensively.  “I'm the head of Law enforcement, not finance. Unless we’re talking about some money launderer who’s about to get it, I doubt I’ll be of much help.”

“Well, do you at least know that the Ministry pays for every Hogwarts student's tuition?”

“Yeah?”

“Including paying the staff their salaries? And providing supplies to the orphaned muggle-borns?”

Bella shrugged. "What's the point?"

“Where do you think the money for all this charity comes from?…Nevermind, don't answer that. The fact is, it was only possible due to the generous donations we received every year. And with Wizengamot no longer around, there has been an acute lack of such this time. All the ancient houses have stopped their patronage—"

"Bribery." Bella interjected.

Amelia rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palm. “Be that as it may, those ‘briberies’ were the reason we were able to do” She swirled her hand in the air, “all of those things. And the only source of funds we've currently operating on to continue that is the profit we plowed from the Quidditch World Cup. Most of that has gone in damages and reparations, and paying the Auror families who'd lost their lives, which are a lot.

"If the Ministry wants to keep operating, we need a large supply of funds and quickly.”

—------

Under the dimming light of the rapidly closing Dusk, Harry flew towards the village of Hogsmeade seated on his Firebolt. Sharp winds kissed his cheeks, his eyes alight with dying embers of the golden glow as he left behind the Quidditch pitch underneath him. The tail of his maroon battle robes trailed behind him in a purposefully dramatical fashion; he didn’t know if anyone could recognise him from such a distance, but he’d rather cut a striking figure befitting a leader anyway.

Just when he’d left the magic of Hogwarts fully, his extended senses picked up another set of wards closing in on him. Powerful and precise, certainly better than anything he himself could have erected, they stood vigil over the village like invisible guardians.

For some reason, the precise sensing of magic left him feeling slightly…omnipotent, for the lack of a better word. He hadn’t quite mastered his senses yet, but he knew once he did, there wouldn’t be a whole bunch of people capable of bypassing his magical gaze.

Who knows, perhaps there may come a time when his magical sensing was so powerful that he could spy upon a wizard on the other side of the city.

Most likely not, but one could dream.

With Apparition back as an option, he quickly landed down on solid ground, shrinking his Firebolt to its toy-size. Not a moment too soon, he was joined by the squad leader of the Aurors patrolling the village, seated on a much more plebeian-worthy broom.

“Head Auror.” The woman greeted, giving him a crisp salute as she landed beside him. “We have new orders?”

Harry glanced at her for but a moment. His view of beauty was terribly skewed by being surrounded with the likes of Lily, Apolline, Bella, and Amelia. Still, he could appreciate a woman on the more average side of pretty every now and then.

This particular woman, however, wasn’t chosen for her looks, but for the fact that she’d held down an entire section of the stadium in the Red Hour with only 3 teams under her command.

“Not yet.” He stowed away the broom into his bag of infinity. “I have work in the Ministry. Your shifts will proceed as scheduled.”

He walked a few paces away, but interestingly, the Auror followed.

“So you’re really taking the command, sir? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

It must be strange showing such deference to someone two decades their junior, but if the woman was at all displeased, her face certainly didn’t show it..

“I don’t. And yes, you will need to arrive at the Ministry early tomorrow morning. You should have a formal summons by tonight, just keep your Telecards close.”

“That is good to hear. Not that we’re displeased with Madam Black running things, but the younger recruits have been getting angsty lately.” She glanced back at the sky, where three of her teammates were now gliding—trying to eavesdrop on them with the subtlety of a troll. “Well anyway, have a good evening, Head Auror.”

“You as well, Auror…” Harry glanced at her chest. “Watson.”

With a last nod, he readied himself with a steady breath and apparated away, leaving splintered space in his wake.

----------------------------

The Ministry was at its most crowded right now since ever. The moment his feet touched the Atrium ground, news of his arrival spread like Fiendfyre. He made a conscious effort to not flinch as bright flashes assaulted him out of nowhere, suppressing his natural instinct to take down all the cameras in range as he made his way to the lift.

Ever since Wizengamot's dissolution, things have been busy in this place. The Ministry was recruiting an insane amount of workers, and not all of them were Aurors. The gaping hole in authority the Wizengamot had left behind had to be filled by something after all. But instead of creating something similar to Wizengamot again—which had acted as the legislative, the executive, and the Judiciary body of Magical Britain—there were now multiple new councils in place, delegated with tasks that replaced most of the functions the Wizengamot was made to handle, with all of it directly supervised by the Minister.

The entire political system of Britain was being redefined, and with Harry's name backing it, the Ministry received no backlash from the crowd.

There was also the fact that most of the country was even more of a lost cause when it came to politics than him.

It was vastly easier to fool the ignorant than wise.

He waved at the now rowdy crowd, Rita Skeeter being one of the more recognisable faces amongst them—looking strangely attractive in her tight-fitting silky green dress—and took his leave as fast as he could, without coming off as impatient.

He never bothered trying to mask his appearance. It would’ve been a waste of time, considering the security measures he’d have to undergo a second later just to reach the Minister’s office.

Once the detective charms had scanned him from head to toe, and the Thief’s downfall had stripped him bare of all magic, he finally reached his destination. He’d considered giving his office in the Auror section a tour, but it would've been pointless, considering he would be returning soon anyway.

The Aurors were supposed to gather tomorrow, and he had a whole lot of preparations to do. Strangely, he found himself quite excited at the notion. He didn't wish to think ill and disrespect the memories of the people who'd fought and died in the last war under him, but the idea of having a trained magical force under his command this time gave him some real goosebumps.

He would have to keep it much more organized of course; appoint a second in command, plan up a solid training regimen, take care of all the technical things…but he already knew that this army was going to be absolutely bonkers These weren't some Hogwarts' runaways, hiding in the gutters to survive, but some of the greatest fighters of this generation Britain had to offer.

And Harry intended to use them to their fullest.

Waving at the secretary manning the hall outside the Minister's office—she knew him too well by this point—Harry headed straight in, softly clicking the door open.

“...which are a lot. If the Ministry wants to keep operating, we need a large supply of funds and quickly.”

Harry furrowed his brows. Now that was an interesting subject. Something he hadn't expected to hear today.

He promptly entered unprompted, announcing himself with a grand, “Ahem.”

Two sets of eyes pinned him under their gazes at once; the blue ones widening surreptitiously even as the purple ones narrowed down in suspicion.

Harry stepped forth carefully.

He didn’t know what he’d done this time, but he had a feeling he’d earned their attention through something deeper than an interruption.

Nonetheless, Harry forced some cheer in his voice. “A good evening to you beautiful ladies! I must say, I didn’t expect two of my most favorite females gossiping about money problems."

Bella huffed, folding her arms. “I’m sure.”

Harry quirked his brows. ‘Okay...now what the fuck happened?’

After Nymphadora and Lily, he was really hoping for a normal, boring, and absolutely predictable day that wouldn't throw curveballs at him.

His hope seemed to have been horribly shattered.

Ignoring the strange heaviness in the air, Harry approached the Minister's table, conjuring himself a chair out of thin air.

“So, I couldn’t help but hear your last words, Minister.” Harry said, taking a seat.

"We gathered." Amelia replied dryly, glancing at Bella.

Harry paused once again, staring at the duo suspiciously. Sometimes he wished his Legilimency was as good as his Occlumency. He hated being clueless about something—especially when it seemed to concern him.

Ignoring the issue, he put on a cheery facade, clapping his hands. "Well then, tell me about it."

Amelia told him. He was bored halfway through.

"So what you're saying is…we might have to start charging fees from Hogwarts’ students.” Harry summed up, cutting her off in the middle. “I see that as an absolute win.”

Another intense round of glaring ensued.

“It really isn't.” Amelia sighed. “I don’t suppose you have a solution for us?”

"Hmm..." He tapped his chin in mock seriousness. "I can come up with some, if you like. Why, I've got nothing better to do than think of ways to coddle our brilliant country. Though if you are looking for some urgent funds, have you considered rinsing the Triwizard tournament for all it is worth?”

Amelia spread her hands with a sigh. "I'm all ears."

“Obviously, we need a more stable source of income, but if we play this right, the Triwizard tournament can be just as big an event as the Quidditch World Cup. Well, almost as big. Never let it be said I'm not humble.”

The Minister grimaced. "You want us to charge the spectators?"

"Sure, why not? Make it into an official event and everything."

Amelia opened her mouth to respond, before suddenly falling quiet, a hand reaching for her coat pocket urgently—revealing a small glowing slate blinking quickly in a constant rhythm. As her eyes flickered across the Telecard, and the seconds passed by in a tense silence, her face grew grimmer and grimmer. By the time she looked up at the two of them, Harry already had his wand ready.

“Diagon Alley is under attack.”

She didn’t need to mention by whom. There weren’t many who would dare attack England right now.

Amelia announced it anyway. “By Voldemort and his Death Eaters.”

Harry was moving before the woman was finished.

----------------------------

News in the Wizarding World rarely stayed in the realms of truth, birthing rumours and gossip aplenty. Rumours and gossip that one Mundungus Fletcher treasured above all in his duties for the Order currently.

Unfortunately, with the Ministry’s constant raids on the knockturn alley, his connections to the underworld had taken a sore hit, reducing his value to the Order quite a bit. And if there was one thing Mundungus Fletcher's pride couldn't stand, it was being bad at what he did.

His business—often in the shady parts of Magical Britain—wasn’t the prettiest of jobs by any means, but it paid well and provided him access to places that upstanding members of the society wouldn’t wish to involve themselves with. He wasn't magically gifted, Mundungus knew, but he'd learned to play to his strengths. And gradually, he'd come to recognise the power his position brought.

He knew people.

Information brokers, who knew exactly how much gold was left in the Malfoy vaults, which Lord was a wittol, and what families were growing closer behind the public eyes. He knew black marketeers, selling illegal wands, blood-tracing potions, and perfectly functional House elves. And if provided some incentive, he could find some especially good assassins, capable of burying even some of the weaker level six Aurors.

For the kind of debt that he owed Dumbledore, there was very little Mundungus was unwilling to do for the Order, and that ‘very little’ usually involved putting his life at risk.

And it pricked him like the sharpest of needles to know that none of it mattered now. His contacts had all run away within the first week of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s return. Worse yet, the security in England had never been tighter, with the Ministry raiding even the deepest parts of Knockturn zealously, as if they would find Death Eaters hiding beneath every carpet and curtain.

Most of those working the Underground businesses had a keen sense of danger. They knew a lost cause when they saw one.

It was a true disaster, in every sense of the word. Even the most opportunistic individuals, who reveled in chaos, didn’t wish to stick around to see the country’s fate. And without them, Mundungus was severely limited in his ways to aid the Order.

He hated feeling useless above everything, all just because the Black woman got a little overeager in sweeping through the streets of Knockturn.

But there was nothing to do, and adapting came naturally to Mundungus.

So here he was, reconnecting with some old chaps around a round of drinks.

If there was one place he knew he'd still find some nuggets of information, it was the Leaky Cauldron. Even if he would need to sift through piles of unwanted garbage to find that one rough diamond.

"Bloody Flea-bitten Dobbins', think they better en' us." Stevo Sparking spat, loudly thumping down his flagon on the table, sending flecks of Beetle-Berry Whiskey flying everywhere. "Four-legged fuckin' freaks."

But there was a reason Mundungus usually did not visit this place for work anymore. Not unless some rich foreign bloke naively decided to crash in the pub, unaware of the truly skillful depths of an experienced wizarding thief.

'Not that there's a chance of that happening anytime soon.' Mundungus sullenly dabbed away a few drops of alcohol soaked in his cloak. 'Not till this bloody war is over.'

"Shut yer ugly mug, Sparkin'." A mysterious spitball suddenly came flying from one of the dark corners of the pub, leaping straight into the drunken lout's mouth. “Chew on that and give us some peace over ‘ere.”

Sparking started choking, but no one moved to help him. Finally, after a particularly disgusting round of retching, the spitball escaped his throat and onto his palm. The man stared at it for a long second before popping it straight back in his mouth, giving his attacker a smug sneer before chewing visibly.

Mundungus grimaced, letting his eyes wander.

Leaky Cauldron was a famous place, but no one would call it well maintained or posh. Dark and shabby, with cobwebs sticking from the ceiling corners, it was made to be cheap, affordable, and easily accessible to wizards from both sides of the country; muggle and magical. The only good thing about it were its renting rooms, which were a smudge better and made with wealthy patrons in mind.

But for times as dark as these, even places like Leaky Cauldron were precious commodities, giving a sense of normality that attracted the rich and poor alike.

"What 'bout you, Gus?" His second tablemate spoke quickly over the rising tempers, one hand dragging Sparking back in his seat to stop the beginnings of a brawl. "Heard ya escaped the Aurors by the skin o' your teeth. Ya musta' got some real stories for us folks."

That got the attention of the entire pub, and many from their neighbouring tables turned to glance at him.

Mundungus may not be a famous celebrity but he had his own reputation around the streets of Magical Britain. Not a particularly good one—the normal crowd didn’t like mingling with those who linger around Knockturn Alley—but still a reputation that he’d exploited more times than once.

‘Finally.’ Carefully suppressing the sleazy smile threatening to bubble up, he looked around the dreary room grimly. ‘An opportunity.’

"Oh you know how it is, Roberts…” He slowly dabbed at his forehead, letting his ‘shaky’ hand be seen by all. “Bad times all around. Some of the things I saw…" He shivered dramatically, and the crowd was hooked. "Terrible, terrible stuff. Wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemies, I wouldn’t."

The wizards exchanged dark looks, though some of them couldn’t hide their uneasiness. While Auror-brutality had always been a favourite topic to complain about over a mug of strong rum, the situation had changed drastically now.

Everyone knew who was leading them.

But Stevo Sparking must be drunker than usual today. Unheeding or uncaring of the frowning patrons, he spat out venomously, "Them damned Aurors! Always interfering in our business…" And received a harsh cuff on the back of his head for the trouble.

“Wha—!”  He turned around like a wild dog. “Who the fuck…!?”

"Watch your words, man." The oldest of their group advised carefully, eyes surveying the room with a pointed gaze.

For a good reason too. The country was overprotective of their new saviour. Only a fool would place doubts upon Harry Potter whilst surrounded by such a zealous crowd.

Thankfully, even drunk, the man had enough sense to realise he was a word or two away from becoming a past memory.

"What? I ain't said nothin' about Potter." Stevo slurred out, raising his hands disarmingly. "But them Aurors ain’t him, are they? And say what you will, but Potter ain't been near them once yet."

Some in the crowd nodded. They all wanted to see Harry Potter with their own eyes; to know for certain that their saviour, The-True-Boy-Who-Lived, was personally keeping their country safe.

"Go on then." Another urged Mundungus, leaning on the edge of their seat. "Don't you keep us waiting."

This was it. Exactly what he’d needed today. An explosive crowd and a chance to guide their topic of discussion. Soon he'll have the entire pub blabbering about things that he actually wanted to hear. And buried beneath the pile of useless gossip, he would surely find some things that would be of interest to the Order.

And so he did. Spinning a gripping tale of darkness and suffering. He was careful not to blame the Aurors outright, eagerly wanting to avoid touching Potter’s topic, but by the time he’d reached his third case, people were already engaged in the discussion, leading him to fail spectacularly in keeping clear of the taboo subject.

“Why do you think they’re wasting their time in Knockturn Alley?” One of the newly graduated Hogwarts’ students asked quietly. “The Aurors should be going after them, shouldn’t they? Hunting them down, instead of targeting petty thieves and common criminals.”

“You tell me who’s this ‘them’ and I’ll be sure to send the Aurors their way.” Came the retort from another table, a burly man leaning over the tall kegs beside him.

The boy didn't seem to understand. “Them.” He whispered. “You know…the Death Eaters.”

The crowd shivered in sync, some tracing cross signs in front of them, a prayer or plea upon their lips.

“And where are they?” The man demanded, heedless. “How would you know? How do I know you ain’t one of them?”

The boy sputtered, but was quickly cut-off . “Think for a moment, lad. Death Eaters don’t roam around the Diagon Alley like clowns, they hide amongst us like rats, waiting for a moment of weakness to pounce. Petty thieves and common criminals, that’s just the start. If even bloody Jacob Potter can be a dark wizard, how can any of us be white and clean?”

A tense moment of silence spread through the crowd, everyone exchanging uneasy looks.

“You know,” A random stranger broke through the silence hesitantly. “I heard some of those who left the country are going after the boy.”

Mundungus leaned forward, his interest pricked. Finally something of value. “Oh?”

The stranger wilted slightly, squirming underneath dozens of eyes. “It’s not my thoughts, you understand? It’s just what I heard from the people who suffered in the You-Know-Which day.”

Satisfied with the grim nods he received, the man leaned closer and started speaking in hushed tone. “Many think Jacob Potter was in league with the Dark Lord from the start. Some in the stadium that night saw You-Know-Who using Potter’s blood to heal himself…some of my friends even say the boy volunteered for it.”

Gasps and whispering picked up amongst the crowd.

The stranger nodded. “Can you imagine? Betraying his own country, his own family…killing his own father. It's no wonder the people are mad. The boy made a fool of us all, it's time someone unleash rightful vengeance upon him."

Now this was the type of news he’d been waiting for. People hunting for Jacob Potter? Dumbledore would surely want to know about them.

Like a bloodhound smelling blood, he readied himself to pounce on the topic with an iron will.

Or, at least, that was the plan. He didn’t quite take into account someone barging into the pub like a drunken troll, panicked yells filling every corner of the room, spilling tables and jugs and wine as he stumbled inside.

“Tom! Tom!” The boy, barely over the age of starting Hogwarts, hollered, looking unwilling to even catch his breath. “There’s...they’re here!”

It was a testament to the times they lived in that even a child’s garbled words could put everyone on the edge instantly.

“Calm down, lad.” The barkeeper thumped him good on the back, though his own trepidation was clear for everyone to hear. “Deep breaths and repeat that again. Slowly, this time.”

The boy managed to take a shaky breath in, but the words that vomited out of his mouth were still a panicked jumble of noises. “T-they’re here, Tom! Outside, on the streets! W-with their black h-hoods and masks!” And then, leaning closer, he fearfully whispered. “The Death Eaters.”

But it didn't matter. Even if no one Understood the boy’s exact words, everyone picked up the ones that truly counted: Death Eaters. Here, in Diagon Alley.

That was enough for most of the people. The Leaky Cauldron found itself emptying faster than it ever had, most of the crowd running straight out of the pub and into the Muggle world. Only a small part of the terrified crowd made for the Apparition point at the other side of the pub, wands clutched in shaky hands as they waited for one of them to tap the wall.

After a moment of internal war, Mundungus joined them.

As much as he wanted to put the greatest possible distance between him and You-Know-Who’s folks, he knew that if the masked freaks were really after them, it would be as useless as an ant resisting a boot to escape them. They could’ve just entered through the front door and the entire pub would’ve been trapped. Most likely, they were here to make a statement for their master and wouldn’t go out of their way to create problems for the common folks.

And after all his recent failures, Mundungus couldn't rightly run away when such a huge opportunity fell in his lap.

Besides, he didn’t plan on risking his life. One sign of violence and he would vanish away like a gust of wind.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t absolutely shaking from head to toe when he finally joined the few brave souls to the entrance of Diagon Alley, the wall slowly parting like a puzzle to reveal the Alley’s lone street.

Leaving the darkened shadowy halls of the Leaky Cauldron, Mundungus stepped out into the open with the rest of his group.

Considering their situation, he had expected to be greeted by ominous winds howling into his ears, painful chills seeping down his bones like lead. He'd expected dark clouds to grumble over Diagon Alley, looking ready to pour any second in response to the sheer darkness the Death Eaters inspired.

Nothing could've been further from the truth.

Cool winds bid them welcome, running along their skin in a soothing symphony. The setting sun cast a beautiful glow over Diagon Alley, uncaring of the despair bleeding within their hearts. Had he not known exactly what was awaiting them, Mundungus would've taken the time to enjoy this rare cadence of nature; the crystalline breeze and the orange sky...it was almost like nothing was wrong with the world right now.

It was depressing to realise how utterly false the picture was.

All their earlier bluster gone, the rest of his companions ran away as if being chased by a Nundu, leaving him alone in the middle of Dialogue Alley's entrance. Firming his mind with every bit of will he still had, Mundungus took a deep breath and ventured forth, casting a weak disillusionment charm—it was still the strongest he was capable of—as he moved behind a shop’s corner to take a peek.

The Death Eaters were the easiest to notice. Four of them in total, waiting in the middle of the now-empty road like heralds of the Dark Lord, utterly uncaring of the fleeing crowd and the rapidly closing shops. Three of their faces were hidden behind those loathsome skull masks, with the remaining one bared fully to the world. That ‘one’ was laughing maniacally, sending spells splashing around at random, all of them so dark that Mundungus had to stifle the urge to vomit.

‘Sirius Black.’ He shivered. That one was not right in the head.

"Run! Run like cowards, you muggle-loving freaks!" Black laughed, magically-strengthened voice echoing through every corner. "Run if you care nothing for our country's plight! Like the corrupt Ministry's loyal dogs, minds twisted by their mudblood words!”

The sight was astonishing in its ludicrousness.

'Death Eaters roaming the Diagon Alley like clowns indeed.' Mundungus felt a sudden urge to throttle the man who'd jinxed this.

Out of nowhere, a stray spell suddenly splashed beside Mundungus, bursting into wispy black flames that promised rotted skin and boiling blood.

All his heroics left him in a whoosh.

'This…this should be enough.' Mundungus convinced himself. 'The Aurors should be here…they'll help sort out this mess."

He'd done his job. Now it was time to dip.

The Apparition point was to the left of Leaky Cauldron’s entrance, sundering away from the main street leading to Diagon Alley. Basically, it was just behind him.

The moment he rose from his position however, his instincts for trouble—-honed through years of experience—blared with a titanic warning. Even before he turned around, he could feel the presence of pure evil appearing at his back.

Mundungus turned slowly, shaking and shivering with his wand clenched tightly…and stared directly into the scarlet volcanic eyes of a demon given life.

There, like the embodiment of chaos—hovering in mid-air—was the Dark Lord. Phantomic wisps of black, looking to be made of pure darkness, spread beneath him into a shadowy throne.

Just a step away from him.

Mundungus' mind blanked.

'This isn't real.' A quivering part of him tried to reason. 'Dark Lords don't wait behind your backs to jump scare you. Someone's taking the mickey out of me.'

Behind them, Black's loud voice barked again, adding even more to the strangeness of the situation. "But know that your suffering is now at an end! The corrupt, muggle-loving Ministry has not treated you well, and our benevolent Lord knows that. So here we stand, presenting you with a taste of salvation."

Yet, Mundungus cared nothing for it anymore. Only two things mattered in the world, and they were the glowing vermillion eyes of Lord Voldemort.

"Ahh…the Order grunt. Mundungus Fletcher, if I'm not mistaken?" Smiling, the Dark Lord raised his wand. "You didn't truly think I'll let a rat such as you escape?"

The surreality of the situation disappeared. The reality set in.

A thousand thoughts flashed past Mundungus’ mind—awe at actually being in front of bloody Voldemort himself, anger at himself for needlessly risking his life, fear at the prospect of death, helplessness at being unable to do anything, desperation to find a way out…

Yet, when the wand came to point at the middle of his forehead, and the green light flashed, only one thought reigned supreme over all.

A realisation.

Mundungus closed his eyes and accepted death.

----------------------------

AN: Finally! Brothers and sisters, my draught has ended! Over 22k words in a single chapter, and the story progressed by...half a day.

This was exactly the reason why I first got the writer's block back in August. I just get lost in writing the scenes, bloating each part way bigger than is necessary. And my pace suffers because of it. So to improve, I thought if I could manage them better, choose my scenes well and balance each chapter with perfect amount of character development, action, sex, and plot progression, I could elevate my writing to another level.

I still believe that, but I'm no longer going to force the process. I've barely been writing for over a year, and I think I've already improved by a satisfactory amount from where I'd began. It'll probably come with time, and if not...well, hope you guys keep enjoying my current writing quality.

Anyway, let me know what you lot thought, hopefully you weren't overly bored lol.

See you in the next chapter, which I really want to post on my birthday (you can probably guess when by my name), but if not, it'll def come soon. Peace!

P.S: I've activated the new Billing services, so you will be charged exactly after 1 month from the date of subscription. Thank fuck for this option, it was about damn time.