A Strange Old World Ch.25 (Patreon)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Chapter 25- The First Taste of Power

AN: Beta'd by Kaladin.

I did plan to post in 3 days, I promise! But my planned average 8-10k chapter to get the updates going flopped horribly when it more than doubled in size. So here, have an almost 22k chap instead.

Hope you enjoy!

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In the long and violent years of his former life, Harry Potter had managed to master the uncanny ability of reading the scene, especially a ‘scene’ that spelled trouble. So as the last light of the evening took its leave—heralding the coming of dusk—and his feet stepped upon the cracked cobbled-road of Diagon Alley, he knew with a despairing certainty; he was too late.

Perhaps it was the ominous silence that gave it away, lacking the musical notes of spellcasting that usually accompanied a magical battle. Perhaps it was the acute lack of his expected enemies’ presence on the battlefield, with no skull-faced thugs in his eyesight, that made him realize something was wrong. Or, perhaps, it was the clear-cut scene of horror awaiting his eyes that finally drove the point home—he was too late.

Diagon Alley was burning.

Rows of black smoke slithered up the gloomy ether, darkening the skies of Magical Britain even further. Everywhere he looked, he was greeted by shops on fire, every step of his was marred by piles of blackened rubble and scattered debris barricading his way forward.

It was a sad fact that he was more annoyed by the lack of enemies, the shocking sight in front of him failing to strike him short in his steps for more than a brief moment.

Perhaps it might’ve, in the past. Now it felt nothing more than another notch in his book of failures. Even as his wand hand—held up cautiously in anticipation of action—drooped down slowly, feeling suddenly powerless, he couldn’t produce more than a bitter snort as his eyes fully took the sight in, absently reflecting on how perfectly things had been going for him till now; it was only a matter of time before he was caught unawares and paid the price. And that time seemed to be here.

For the only thing greeting him now was the sound of lapping flames and a silence that never bode well.

Well…not the only thing. Present in the field of black smoke and fiery chaos were also a handful of harried Hit-Wizards, doing their best to limit the damage upon Diagon Alley. Yet, it was a task in futility; for every wand dousing out a wave, a dozen more fires burned through the Alley unchecked and wild. And from the direction some lines of smoke rose to the sky, he wagered even Knockturn Alley wasn't left unscathed.

They did their best of course, slowly but surely gaining ground—or, well, roof—but Hit-Wizards weren't meant for a job like this. Every shop they saved came off worse for wear. By the time they'd be done, the Alley would be naught but a husk of its past self: a blackened, charcoaled husk.

Sure, it could be rebuilt quite easily, but it wasn’t the physical aspect of things that worried him, it was what it signified that left his mouth tasting sour—this attack had the potential to do the one thing he really didn’t want right now; break the spirit of Magical Britain and turn them into the spineless idiots he knew them to be in another life.

Suddenly overwhelmed with the sight, he turned to the ether above almost petulantly, glaring at the clear twinkling twilight that seemed to taunt him with its radiant beauty.

Where the fuck is the treacherous sky of Britain today? He found himself futilely demanding. Why do the clouds not thunder now? Now, when they’re actually fucking needed?”

Everything had been going so perfectly. Just why couldn’t luck be on his side for once?

But the skies remained apathetic to his fury and pleas, and not a drop of rain fell to quench out the raging fires.

It was at this moment that Harry found, perhaps he wasn’t as unaffected by the situation as he’d first thought. There was something so restless within him, like a monster trying to claw its way out of his chest, reeking of guilt and hate and an icy, glacial anger that demanded nothing less than complete annihilation of Voldemort and his goons.

It was the same monster that had once witnessed the ruined figure of Fleur Delacour hanging in the courtyard, saw his lover cut down in front of him like an animal, and had lost many, many friends to a being so pathetic, so basic and immature, he couldn’t even face his own mortality. That monster wanted revenge.

Gritting his teeth, Harry made his way towards the squad of Hit-Wizards with quick strides, taking care to avoid the bigger fissures in the road.

As he came closer to the area not yet doused, a part of him couldn’t help but notice the arcane nature of the disaster, sensing the magic in the fires—the morning’s training session still stark in his mind—as he visualized the wispy white outline of magic surrounding the waves of orange and yellow that enveloped the Alley and beyond.

For all the horrific damage it had wreathed upon the Alley, he couldn’t deny the raw alien beauty in its expression.

“Hold!” Up ahead, one of the Hit-Wizards quickly broke away from the rest, hurrying over in a jog, her wand held cautiously.

It was a credit to their cautiousness that even through a task so taxing, his presence hadn’t gone entirely unnoticed.

Harry quickly forced his restless anger under a cover of Occlumency, shutting the thrashing monster behind mental bars and taking a deep, calming breath to let the adrenaline of an expected fight peter out. There was no battle to be had here anymore, and looking like an angry teenager spoiling for a fight wouldn't inspire courage or assurance amongst these people.

He had a reputation to maintain.

The Hit-Wizard came to a sudden halt a few paces away from him, squinting eyes widening visibly as she received a clear look. “Ah, Lord Pott—Head Auror, that is...” Her words came off slightly smothered, no doubt the effects of being encased in the protective cover of Bubble-Head charm, a common theme he could observe on the rest of her colleagues. "Apologies sir, didn’t expect you here.”

The witch hesitated; it was obvious the woman had no idea how to treat Harry. Still, there was something more important here than social norms.

"What happened here?" Harry asked quietly, keeping his gaze religiously upon her.

"Well…" The Hit-Wizard fidgeted a little, scratching her chin as she glanced back, where her teammates had come to a halt, whispering amongst themselves, their gazes fixed upon the duo.

A couple of them pointed at him animatedly, and the woman waved back in irritation. “What are you staring at, lackwits!? Back to work with you lot!”

Turning back to him, the auburn-robed Witch gave a sheepish shrug. "Shabby lot, green as spring leaves. Can't complain though, can I? Not in times like these. About this situation though, sir...I’m afraid I don’t rightly know the full story. Our squad was patrolling the area when we got the news of some masked freaks playing mischief in Diagon Alley. We arrived quick as a wink but just found a grand shitshow. The squad leader has ordered the area to be restricted until all this—” she waved at the raging fires behind her with a grimace, forcing his attention back to it. “mess could be sorted out.”

Harry exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief moment as the reality of the situation hit him like a sudden stunner, washing away the surrealism building at the back of his mind.

Diagon Alley was burning.

He had faced many horrors in his life, but this still deserved more than an apathetic shrug. He needed to do something. Something beyond just planning revenge and cursing the world.

"We’ve requested additional backup from the Ministry but…” The witch continued with another shrug. “I don't know, the Aurors haven’t arrived yet." She paused for a brief moment, eyeing him hesitantly. “Except you, of course. I would suggest using a Bubble-Head charm if you’re planning to stay, sir. The fumes and smoke and all would take a while yet to be gone."

Harry grunted, ignoring her advice as he turned back to the blazing Alley, the smell of burning wood grounding him to reality.

It was easy to see why the Hit-wizards were having such difficulty quenching out the flames; had it been normal fire, he wagered they'd be done by now. But the stink of Elemental magic was clear to see now that he knew what to look for; a combination of fiery aura trailing with thick waves of green and yellow, with a minimal amount of magic within them.

'Some death…and Force, perhaps?' He mused absently, rubbing his chin. 'It's a good thing there's not enough of it for Fiendfyre.'

Whatever motive Voldemort had for doing this, complete annihilation of Diagon Alley wasn't it.

Still, that didn’t make things any better. It was up to Harry to do so. And he had just the idea to get started.

“Sir?” The witch beside him piped up, puzzled, as he walked around her to properly face the scene of crime.

Not bothering to explain himself, Harry closed his eyes and flexed his senses wide and open, fixing an image of the burning Diagon Alley in his mind’s eye.

A part of him felt foolish at trying this; it simply spoke of great arrogance to even think he could start controlling Elements after a single training session with Dumbledore. And considering the gravity of the situation, a failure here would waste too much precious time that could otherwise be used to manually put out the fire.

With his raw power, he would likely succeed.

Yet, there was a lingering voice within him that, for some reason, was fairly certain that his plan would work. Besides, some of the best magic he’d done was in a moment of impulsive urging. It didn’t hurt to continue the record.

His decision firming, he swirled his wand overhead, letting his magic spike outwards like tendrils of arcane, aimlessly searching through the air. He didn't understand the exact process of ‘resonating one's magic with the Element's’, but the little he'd read was enough for him to get started.

And so he let his magic encroach upon the world, and simply…pushed with his senses.

The world promptly answered his probe.

Magic was always around them, every second of every hour. In the air all breathed, in the water all drank, and the land beneath their feet, magic trickled within Nature like a natural source of energy that had existed before man, growing ever stronger with time. Wizards simply happened to be lucky enough at being involved in this magical ecosystem. And like a beautiful web linking everything together, magic exercised its presence through them all, making its wielders a part of something greater.

At that moment, Harry felt all of it.

He would’ve liked nothing more than to sit down and meditate upon its sheer magnificence, to behold the beauty of a power most ancient, but time was of the essence, and he had a specific target.

So, ignoring the earth beneath his feet, and the water beneath the earth, and the air in the sky, he focused upon the blazing tornado of fire eating away at the world, trying to bring forth the natural connection all magical beings shared within this ecosystem.

To his surprise, Harry found resonating his magic with the Element’s an easy task. There already existed an inherent connection between them, with both being a part of a greater whole; all he had to do was remind them of this connection. It was difficult to understand the exact nuances of the process, but if he had to simplify it further, he would say bridging the gap between them felt like greeting a cousin that you’ve never met before but were aware of their existence.

Indeed, not a very difficult task he would imagine; It was what followed after that pushed the boundaries of his abilities.

The moment he felt his magic linking with the Element’s, anger; deep and dark and hot, erupted from the depths of his mind like a volcano bursting, unleashing the rage monster bound inside his mental cage—tearing through the barriers like wet paper. It was completely different from the cold, glacial fury the burning Alley had conjured. More wilder, more impulsive…more Gryffindorish.

It was the type of raw anger that threatened to consume your very being, removing all restraints and common sense.

And it slammed into him with the weight of a leviathan, unrelenting and implacable in its fury.

Perhaps he might’ve grunted in response to such a sudden assault, perhaps the witch beside him might’ve noticed his growing struggle, but at that moment he found himself completely and utterly detached from the physical world, his focus taken entirely by this primal force that threatened to drown him in its might.

He felt like the foolish fifteen-year-old who’d just witnessed the death of his sole father-figure, the rage making him lose all sense of reality as he tore after the mad witch in sheer bloodlust. Only this time, the anger wasn’t aimed at a single thing. It wanted something much more basic; to cause destruction.

Sure, there was still an urgent, almost irresistible urge to go find Voldemort and his shit-eaters right this instant and unleash upon them his rightful fury. But if he couldn’t find them? Well…the Alley was already burning. It wouldn’t hurt to bring it completely to the ground. Just long as he let himself run free…

In response to his rising anger, the fires around him became stronger and fiercer, as if the Element was using his anger like a fuel to devour the Alley with even greater speed, while at the same time fanning the anger even further in his mind, acting like a symbiotic relationship—both feeding off of each other.

The moment he realized what was happening, a chilling awareness set upon him that washed away the literal out-of-the-body experience, and he found himself in control of his motor functions once more, breaking the mental grip the Element had upon him.

A part of him immediately scrambled to contain his emotions, aiming to bring the fire under his control. Unsurprisingly, he faced resistance.

Surprisingly, the resistance was strong.

Harry could imagine an almost primal sentience to the Element’s actions. It wasn't as alive as Void, he didn't think, but there was just enough life and character in it for him to understand its baser motives…

To consume and raze everything it touches.

In that moment, he found himself understanding Fire almost better than anything else in the world. It was wild and raw, with a deceptive quickness that could easily leave one’s control with just a little fuel to feed it, burning everything around them to ashes…just like anger.

Anger, unrestrained and wild, could easily destroy everything around you, from your friends and family to your status and reputation, your entire life could be affected by uncontrollable bursts of anger and rage. It was a double edge sword, hurting its wielder just as much as it hurts its target. Uncontrolled, your anger would be nothing but tantrums of a child.

But properly tamed and governed, both could be one’s greatest weapon against all manners of challenges; physical, magical, or mental.

To control Fire, one must know to control their own anger. Fortunately, Harry had quite a bit of experience in that. He’d come far from the impulsive child he’d once been.

It was still a desperate struggle to be sure, the anger like a raised Basilisk that refused to be coiled, spilling it's venom in every corner of his mind and bringing forth new memories to fight with—memories that he'd carefully kept hidden all this while; the ruined, lifeless body of Fleur, displayed like a broken toy to a sea of leering eyes; Ginny's confused face, completely unaware as death took her; Seamus Finnigan, guiltily explaining why resistance was futile, how he had no other option; Hermione's glassy eyes as her body hit the ground, the mad cackles of Lestrange echoing in the background…

Everything worked to fan the flames of his anger. Every memory was cruelly chosen to make him lose control. Even as he tried to convince himself that it was all in the past, that it wouldn't happen again—he wouldn't let it—the Elemental didn't lose its hold on him.

'But what if it does?' It whispered in his voice. 'What if you could change nothing? Is it not better to unleash yourself now? To devour your enemies? Assault Black Manor and take down as many as you can? What use is restraint when all it brings is failure? For how long will you limit yourself and suffer in silence? Only to end up like before once more, alone and lost, ready to end it all...if death is all that is awaiting, wouldn’t it be better to go out with a bang?'

At some of the more desperate moments in his past life, it would’ve been enough to push him over the edge. To make him lose control and go absolutely bonkers. In this life, however—especially at this point of his journey—he had one too many faces to borrow strength from; Lily, Bella, Fleur, Apolline, Amelia…Gabrielle. They all needed him.

His anger tried taking it away from him, tried warping their faces into the ones he’d already lost, but it was a task in futility. If there was even one chance, a single reason to keep fighting, Harry would take it with open hands and fight until he couldn’t.

‘Lies! Even you gave up in the end!’

But then, he had nothing. Now, he had everything.

And that was enough for Harry to bring his anger to heel, his will once again proving indomitable as he finally managed to slam the doors of Occlumency shut on his mind, pouring his entire focus on taming the primal emotion.

As his grip on his mental shields strengthened, the Element relinquished its control willingly, and the fire around him responded in kind, lessening in intensity from an angry blaze to a calm flame according to his will, before dying down to the level of a normal house-fire, the great Elemental power within it dispersing in the air.

With the suppression of the fiery waves, the specks of Force and Death dissolved by themselves, their medium gone and now with nothing to support them.

The raging tempest was now a smoldering aftermath.

His job done, he couldn’t have let go of the Fire quicker if his life depended on it. Which, for a second, he truly felt it might’ve.

As the world righted itself back to its mundane form, a wave of vertigo hit him out of nowhere, forcing him to be completely still in hopes of avoiding a face-to-face meet and greet with the cobbled ground.

Slowly, the feeling subdued and the urge to gasp in relief and take deep, relieved breaths was so strong that for a moment he worried he might’ve already ruined his image in front of the Hit-wizards from the way the woman was now looking at him.

It took him a moment to realize she wasn’t judging his loss of control. She was gaping at him in pure incredulous shock.

"That was Elemental Magic." The Hit-wizard whispered.

And indeed, it was. The most basic of Elemental manipulations; dispersing the already gathered power back into the wider world.

‘And I almost lost to it…’

Still, that didn’t stop a sense of accomplishment from warming his insides. In the grand scheme of things, it may not have been a truly great feat, but it was a start to something special, and the fact that he’d accomplished what Albus had theorized would take him a whole month meant he would be climbing this ladder even quicker than they'd anticipated.

It was only a matter of time before Elemental magic became a well of strength to him, rather than a subject of ignorance.

Ahead, the gaping witch let out an awed laugh, the high-pitched notes stabbing at his brain like sharp needles. “Morgana’s dirty socks! They were right about you!”

He powered through it all, clearing his throat as if he wasn’t a second away from falling flat on his face, and gave an imperious nod that left his head reeling even more. "Repair what you can, and put the place back to its former image. I'll try to clear the rest of it. Where is your squad leader?"

"I-what? Oh, of course!…I mean, you—yes, of course." She floundered aimlessly for a second, not registering his question, dazzled eyes still staring at him in awe, before visibly collecting herself. Taking a deep breath, she returned a more professional nod. "The leader…well, the Deputy head is on the other side of the wreckage, deeper in the alley. Do you want me to show yo—"

Yes, please!

“No, thank you.” Without another word, Harry moved on, leaving the scattering of Hit-Wizards to douse the remaining fires.

His timing was impeccable, for just a moment after he’d crossed the last of them, a warm liquid trickled down his nose, curving around his lips to ooze down his chin.

Harry quickly wiped away the blood, tasting iron in his mouth. His head wasn’t pounding as harshly anymore, but he knew another try at controlling the Element would see his mind finally rebelling into darkness. Hell, it probably already would've, had this body not been reforged through blood and skin.

It took him a while and no small amount of magic to traverse his way through the scene of nightmare, quenching out the few weak wisps of flames still remaining.

It was a sorry sight indeed, to see the Alley in such a pathetic state. The place that had acted like a pillar to Wizarding Britain for many centuries, where all the English wizards first held their wands…to see it being reduced to such a sight would be a blow to the most callous of hearts.

Slowly but surely, he came upon a disheartening conclusion.

The Wizarding market was set upon a course of ruination.

He could see Madam Malkin's shop now, the colorful and inviting entrance reduced to charred wood and molten glass. And there burned Flourish and Blotts, its Slytherin-green door now completely unrecognizable. The apothecary was letting off strange fumes that finally forced him to cast a Bubble-Head charm upon himself, and he averted his eyes from Eeylops Owl Emporium where Hedig had once sat waiting for him…

Even if the Ministry managed to return it back to its pristine conditions, the people would be simply too terrified of coming back here anytime soon.

'Or perhaps not.' People of this reality had surprised him once before, maybe they might again?

He wouldn't hedge his bet on it.

'Maybe Amelia could spin this into something positive.' That was really their only true hope.

He soon rounded the curved path of the Alley and came upon a wider clearing; the lone Magical bank standing tall and proud with a scattering of smaller shops on each side.

Surprise bloomed in his chest when he realized this part of the Alley was relatively untouched; there were still signs of fire and damage, but no direct spell effect.

It probably had something to do with Gringotts. It seems even Voldemort wasn't willing to antagonize the beings who held his money. Harry was just glad that Ollivander's shop was included in that short list of protected shops.

A small throng of people was gathered beneath the bank, wide-eyed faces looking frightful and restless, whispering amongst themselves as they crowded the lanes on either side. They were held behind a bordered edge—a wooden barricade stretching throughout the clearing—that separated Gringotts and its surrounding shops from the rest of the devastation. And gathered on this side of the barricade was his target; easily recognizable in his dark blue kufi as he gave orders to two more cloaked wizards.

Harry’s approach was noted almost immediately, and all three wizards turned to him with wands raised. Holding his hands in peace, he inclined his head and greeted one of the few men he still respected. “Auror Shacklebolt."

The man’s eyebrows reached his non-existent hairline, though that remained the only sign of his surprise as he nodded back, dismissing the other two wizards with a curt wave. “Lord Potter. I didn't expect to see you. Especially today of all days."

The wizards behind him dragged away a body wrapped head to toe in white cloth, whilst Shacklebolt made to approach him.

"Though I’m not quite an Auror anymore, I’m afraid.” He flashed his new badge, his pristine Auburn robe matted with specks of black soot. “Transferred to the Hit-Wizard division a few days ago. No offense meant, I simply owed it to Longbottom and…well, your father.”

Harry absently nodded, his attention suddenly taken by one of the last shops unfortunate enough to be on this side of the barricade. Feeling a little numb, he walked towards it slowly.

“I never gave my thanks for what you did that day.” Kingsley’s voice trailed after him, hinting no displeasure at being ignored. “You saved our lives. That's a debt most wouldn't be able to repay in a lifetime, though I wouldn't mind a chance. I know Frank wanted to speak to you personally about it; an impossible task, as we’ve found out recently. You’re a very hard person to find, Mr. Potter.”

Harry couldn’t acknowledge the Hit-Wizard, eyes transfixed as he slowly came to a stop in front of the destroyed shop.

Cracked glass littered the floor of Quality Quidditch Supplies, the display case of a new Firebolt model having been shattered into pieces. He knelt beside the burnt wood of the broom, gently brushing the broken bristles with the back of his hand, wondering if this was the same broom Sirius had gifted him in another life.

"How many?" Harry asked quietly.

"Lord Potter?" Kingsley asked in a deliberately confused voice.

"How many were killed?"

There was a reluctant silence for a precious few seconds, before Shacklebolt finally broke it away with a sigh. "Only three." His tone was solemn now, all good cheer from earlier forgotten. "Two Aurors standing guard in the Alley, and one civilian, Mundungus Fletcher. And while I believe it was still three too many, I cannot deny we came off better than we could've, considering You-Know-Who himself was involved.” After a brief pause, he added reluctantly. “It makes sense though. His mission wasn't to kill this time."

Harry frowned, standing up slowly. "The body that your men dragged away. Who was it?"

Kingsley sighed again. "It's better if you take a look yourself. Though I must warn you it’s…gruesome."

And take a look he did.

Harry didn't know what disturbed him more; the face of a man he distinctly remembered surviving the war now lying dead, or the bloody letters carved upon his naked chest.

'Your Ministry cannot protect you.’ It said, ‘Your hero cannot save you. The truth lies here, for all of you to witness. If I can bleed you at your most protected, what could Grindelwald do? Pay heed to Lord Voldemort's words. The time for cowering is over. I am finally free of the madman who'd made us all suffer, who'd forced me to commit heinous crimes. Crimes that I have paid for with thirteen years of my life. The spillage of magical blood must stop. Join me, if you wish revenge. Join me, if you wish protection from a Dark Lord who would see this world ruined. I shall await your presence. All are welcome.'

Harry stepped back, stunned. This…was impossible. The Voldemort he remembered would never try something so.. outlandish.

“Yeah. I felt the same.” Kingsley voiced from beside him, rewrapping Mundungus’ body with a wave of his wand.

"Slave of Grindelwald," Mouth twisting in disgust, Harry shook his head. "What a joke. I didn’t know Voldemort was a clown, on top of being a coward. Does he really believe he could fool anyone?"

"…I should hope not, but I'm afraid not everyone will be so sure anymore."

"What?" He rounded on Kingsley. "You think there's a chance someone will believe this crap?"

Kingsley shrugged, discomfort clear on his face. “I can’t say."

He clearly had something to say, but Harry decided not to push.

His head was pounding again now. Rubbing his brows, he hoped to all the gods this day would end soon without any more entertainment. 'Merlin, can't believe I was shagging Tonks against a wall just a few hours ago.' And that was after training with Dumbledore the whole morning.

Did all of that really happen on the same day? It was difficult to believe.

"How did anyone even read that?" He asked distractedly. The letters on the body were tiny enough that he probably wouldn't have made it all out without his enhanced eyesight.

"The blood was charmed to be projected in the air, with Fletcher's body crucified in midair. It took me and my boys quite some time to dismiss the words and get the body down."

Harry breathed out slowly, accepting the truth for what it was.

This really wasn't an attack. This was just a message.

'How did I not predict this?'

He'd known there was a huge chance of retaliation of course. It was simply a logical action, considering he'd already torn the Dark Lord's anonymity into pieces. What use would he have of hiding in the shadows anymore?

There were Auror teams meant to answer any sightings of Death Eaters as fast as possible. Unfortunately, they'd already been pressed for numbers, and with the Dementor hunting taking a large part of their forces, they couldn't keep a specialized team at Diagon Alley.

Harry hadn't expected to need one either.

Even in the worst case, should Voldemort come knocking upon their doors himself, the Aurors should've arrived quickly enough to mitigate damages until someone stronger arrived.

What he never expected was for Voldemort to do a cheap hit-and-run like some common thug. ‘What is happening with this world?’

Harry clenched his teeth, the dead body of Fletcher hurting a weak spot in his heart. He'd never been close to the part-time thief, nor had he ever wished to be, but he could easily imagine someone else in his place. To be killed in a place like Diagon Alley so blatantly was...shocking.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to agonize over the entire situation for long, as help arrived soon after.

“Move it, people! Get those cauldrons out of the way! Sarah, take your team and start rebuilding from here up to the Quidditch shop. Shacklebolt, report!”

Amelia’s voice pulled him out of his reverie. He turned around, taking in the suddenly bustling street as squads of robed figures moved out, spreading throughout the entire place.

Both the Minister and the head of DMLE had arrived personally, finally bringing that promised group of Aurors with them. Some of them paused at his presence, some even giving uncertain salutes. Most, however, were lost in their own sense of horror at witnessing the ruined Alley and hurried to their job with great haste.

With a sigh, Harry walked off to find himself a secluded corner, more than happy to let them take the burden.

It was simply criminal how beautiful the moon looked tonight, unmarred by any snooping clouds. The entire sight in front of him felt surreal in its beauty; the vibrant flashes of spells clashing against flickering flames, amidst the pieces of wood, plastic, and iron that flew in an orderly tornado as the magic worked its charm to restore the world, all the while a beam of ethereal moonlight fell upon them from above, like a sign from the heavens.

With cool wind gently blowing through his hair, singing lullabies in his ears, he could see himself falling asleep upon a conjured couch as he enjoyed the sight, and forget all about the three dead bodies currently being carried away.

Harry sighed. Merlin, but he needed a soft bed right now. Preferably with a beautiful redhead to snuggle in it.

Or, as Bella slowly approached him, a violet-eyed beauty who managed to look like a stunningly beautiful ice sculpture under the moon’s glow.

"You look tired." Bella announced without preamble, waving her wand to put multiple privacy wards around them. "I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner. Amelia threatened to stun me if I didn't wait for the Aurors. She looked dead serious this time."

Harry waved it away, his mood already improving. "It's fine, Bella. It wouldn’t have mattered much either way. Voldemort didn’t seem keen on waiting for us."

She came to stand beside him, leaning into his shoulder as she faced the same side. For a long moment, silence dominated their space, both enjoying the sight, before she finally spoke. "I saw his body, you know. Not a sight for the weak of hearts. I doubt I'd have kept my stomach at your age."

Despite the softness in her words, her shoulders were coiled in tight tension.

Harry paused, realizing he hadn't even considered that. Would Shacklebolt suspect something? The last thing he needed right now was to be named a psychopath.

He shook his head a moment later, dismissing the entire notion. His mind felt like a scoop of mashed potatoes drenched in heavy gravy. Even thinking was tiring him.

Putting a comforting hand over her shoulder, he pulled Bella closer into him. “You know I'm fine, Bella. Sad though it may sound, I've seen much worse on the Quidditch final."

She sighed, letting herself relax. "That doesn't make it better." Then pausing suddenly, she tilted her head to stare up at him, a mysterious smile playing on her lips. "You know, whilst coming here, I came upon a most interesting conversation between some Hit-Wizards."

It took him a few moments to stop staring at her lips and force out a reply. "Oh? Do tell."

"So, fire, hmm?" Her smile turned coy as she elbowed him lightly. "I expected Earth or Lightning, though I would've been most happy with Shadow. But fire is fine as well."

Harry blinked, leaning back to stare at her fully. "What?"

Bella raised a brow, growing slightly less certain. "Your Element? Roslin seemed sure you used Elemental magic to suppress the fires."

"Ah," Harry nodded slowly, his brain rotating at turtle speed. "That. Yes."

It struck him as strange how almost every Elemental user treated their Element similar to their Patronus or Animagus form; something unique and special to the soul.

Either Harry was doing something wrong, or it was too early for him to form an emotional connection, for never at any point did the Element seem as close to him as his Patronus.

Even when it relinquished total control to him, it felt just like another source of power, albeit with tremendous potential. He would gladly harness that raw energy, but he wouldn't call it his.

His feelings must’ve shown on his face, for Bella furrowed her brows in a frown. "You don't look happy. Are you not proud of your achievement?"

Harry shrugged, homing onto the excuse. "It isn't too big of a deal. I just put out some fire, didn't I? Basic exercise. Now actually casting Elemental magic from nothingness, that's an achievement."

"Basic exercise?" She exclaimed, staring at him in sheer disgust. "You dispersed cursed fire from an entire market place. There are master Elemental users who'd hesitate to even attempt such a task. Just the amount of raw magic needed to connect with such a wide source of Element…you have no idea what you did, do you?"

Harry scratched his chin. Now that she put it this way, he felt he may have been a tad bit over eager in attempting something without due knowledge.

Bella heaved a deep sigh. "Harry, Elemental magic is…dangerous. Insanely so. Had you been learning from me, the first thing I'd have done is to sit you down and drive the point home; do not play with Elements if you're uncertain about the outcome. And even if you are certain, make sure you have someone dependable beside you, to pull you out of whatever mess you might be heading into."

She paused, pursing her lips, as something bitter flashed in her eyes. "I won't ask who is teaching you. I'm sure it's another one of your secrets that you'll 'eventually' tell me but certainly not now—"

"Dumbledore." He blurted out at once, relieved to have something he didn't have to hide.

Bella blinked, before moving away to face him directly.

The absence of her body left him strangely empty.

Cursing himself for speaking, he continued. "Dumbledore taught me. Just the basics though. Rest I learned from my own research and studies."

"Harry," She looked conflicted, picking her words carefully. "Dumbledore is…"

"Dodgy." Came the Minister's voice as she intruded upon their ward unceremoniously. "And dangerous."

Harry shrugged. "He will give his life for my success." Literally.

The ladies shared a quick look, speaking words not meant for him, something that left him feeling strangely irked.

"Well," Bella said slowly. "If you're sure…"

They descended into momentary silence, before Amelia audibly cleared her throat.

"Now, if you two are quite done, we need to figure out where to stash the homeless for one night." Her eyes trailed towards the awaiting crowd. "And prepare a speech for the public ears. Else this has the potential of being an absolute PR nightmare."

Harry looked at his Minister for an incredulous moment, before pointing behind her at the destruction.

"I know, I know.” She waved him away impatiently, frustration clear on her face. “That shouldn't be my priority. But we have to keep the people of Britain believing in you, their morale strong. The moment people start leaving this country by the droves, expect this war to be lost. First, our economy will sink. Then Voldemort would nibble us to death—"

"Alright, I understand." Harry cut her off, really not in the mood. Besides, he did, in fact, understand why their morale must be kept high. Nothing like a hopeless public to lose you the war. "You do what you have to, Minister. Though I’m afraid I won’t be much help today. I have a class of Aurors to teach in the morning."

Amelia nodded, turning back where she’d come from, only to pause suddenly.

“You did good work today.” She said, glancing at him hesitantly, eyes flickering once to Bella. “Meet me in the office tomorrow?”

Harry suppressed a snort, simply giving her a bland nod. “I’ll be there.”

Then she was off, her voice issuing orders like the crack of a whip.

“I must be leaving as well.” Bella said, swiftly approaching him to push her lips against his ears in a soft kiss. "Go get some sleep, Harry. You have a big day tomorrow. We'll manage here, I promise. You’ve done enough."

Harry nodded, yawning, even as his right ear tingled pleasantly. "Inform Lily, would you? I don't want her to worry needlessly. I'm going back to the Potter Manor for tonight. Can't deal with all the students right now."

"Of course. Tell Apolline I might be late. Poor woman is all alone in the manor."

The thought of being alone with Apolline made his body a little too excited, but where the body was willing, his mind absolutely was not.

So he let the tension slowly drain out of him, before taking a hold of a Ministry authorized Portkey and vanishing away into the night.

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

Sweat-caked and slouching, over two dozen wizards and witches gathered upon the Auror training grounds with grit pressed in their hearts. Dressed in faded evergreen and Auburn battle robes, they were an odd mixture of battle hardened and laughably inexperienced group of warriors, quite aware of the expectations placed upon their shoulders by the Ministry and the whole of wizarding Britain.

For the wider public, it would've been an honor to stand alongside them, to feel like a part of something greater, carrying the responsibility of an entire nation.

Stella was not one of them.

Honor was the last thing she felt, standing here, with a noticeable rift between her and the rest. The subtle frowns and blatant glares coming from those who were supposed to be her new teammates was merely the cherry on top.

Stella held absolutely no illusions of her place in this group—an intruder; tolerated, but only because their hero had personally vouched for her. She was not part of this elite group of wizards and witches meant to protect people, didn't feel the comradery that each of them shared, didn't trust a single person here to watch her back in the thick of battle.

To be terribly honest, she hadn’t even expected to proceed past the personality evaluation phase, let alone become an actual Auror. It was with great shock that she’d removed the Telecard and acceptance letter from the two envelopes that had found her in the morning, along with orders to be present here as of this moment.

Still, one thing was clear to her; Stella ‘Cronwell’ was not an Auror, no matter what her shiny new robes suggested.

Nor, from the looks of it, did her peers want her to be. She may have been vouched for by Harry Potter himself, may have cleared the Auror training program in record speed, and may have been sporting a level six badge—making her naturally superior to a large number of people present here—but none of it mattered over the fact that she'd betrayed their trust once already. And in times like these, trust was too precious a commodity to hand over freely.

If she wanted to regain their acceptance, she would have to earn it the hard way.

Too bad then that Stella didn’t care enough to try. She wasn’t here out of some misguided sense of loyalty for the English wizards, nor was she looking for any foolish redemption quests to cleanse her ‘blackened’ soul. There was one and only one reason she was still rotting in Britain, even knowing that this was perhaps the last place Grindelwald would think of expanding his domain to—the Oaths she’d sworn to Harry Potter.

While she’d grown disillusioned with Grindelwald and his cause recently, she never would’ve willingly surrendered to the British Ministry had there been a second option. But there wasn’t; even back then, she’d felt the Oaths tightening around her soul like ropes of judgment, ready to strike her down at the first sign of infringement—Potter hadn’t been considerate enough to give even a paltry sum of leeway, and she’d been too damn terrified of the green-eyed monster to voice any protests then.

So now here she stood, tolerating the sneers and snarls directed her way with icy dismissal, waiting for the day to proceed and her life to move on. Who knows? Perhaps eventually she may even grow to like it. Or maybe Potter would have some mercy on her soul and reward her good behavior with freedom.

Sadly, that didn’t seem to be happening very soon. The Head Auror had yet to arrive.

Sighing, Stella glanced around the training ground where most of her teammates were scattered, absently noting some of the more interesting faces present; of the 26 robed figures, quite a few were newer recruits that had passed the exams around the same time as her. They were also the only ones that didn’t have some form of hostility on their faces, seeming more curious than anything about the way the rest were treating her.

She dismissed most of them out of hand; they would eventually know her truth. She doubted it would be long before they joined the large group of sheeple in their incessant braying, too young to form their own opinions.

The remaining Aurors were split in two groups, and after two weeks around the Headquarters, Stella had learnt to differentiate them both; first was the old crew that had been happy to work under Scrimgeour. And after years of enjoying an elevated position amongst their peers, they seemed the most disappointed with Potter's ascension as the head. While none bad mouthed Potter openly, she knew a few of them would've loved nothing more, as long as they could get away with it.

They were also the most vocal about her placement here, mostly as a subtle dig to Potter, though some with genuine anger. She had fooled them all, after all.

Stella was looking forward to seeing how Potter would handle them.

The second group was mostly made up of the neutral party, those who either simply didn't care enough about politics, or were too enamored by Potter's name, along with a handful of retired veterans rejoining the corps in desperate times.

There was a slight tension between the two groups, though nothing that would stop them from working together.

At least, Stella hoped. Or this country was already doomed, and she along with it.

Out of them all, the only one Stella couldn't peg was the pink-haired young witch standing stoically beneath the shade, away from all the others just like her.

Nymphadora Tonks, Stella knew her name to be; a well-known and registered Metamorph. She hadn't personally met the shape-shifter, but the girl was a legend in her own right and a recurrent topic of conversation, having the honor of being the youngest Auror in recent history…at least, until recently. Stella felt it such a shame that her ability was so widely known; the true power of a shape-shifter came when no one suspected them.

‘Grindelwald would’ve properly cultivated her.’ She mused, unable to hide a certain bitterness. A fake identity and some formal training in subterfuge and assassination, and the Metamorph would’ve been an absolute nightmare in the Alliance. ‘Grindelwald would’ve known exactly what to do with her.’

The old man had a talent in recognising the potential of others and cultivating it to their fullest. Stella would know. One didn’t become an apprentice to the Dark Lord without having a certain potential themselves.

‘A wasted potential.’ The old man would call her now; allowing herself to become a slave to another wizard, and so very easily too. Then again, he himself had received a bleeding jaw by said wizard, so perhaps not.

He wouldn’t be too annoyed about her betrayal, she was sure. Probably pat her head with an indulgent smile before magnanimously forgiving her if she chose to return back voluntarily, along with a twinkling ‘I told you so’ that would get on her nerves like always.

Stella grimaced. 'Merlin, am I actually missing him now?'

Up ahead, the doors to the Training grounds opened again. To her disappointment, it wasn’t the Head Auror.

The boy who walked through the door was older than their Head Auror—not that it was saying much, everyone usually was—though you wouldn't guess so if they stood side-by-side.

One thing that quickly caught the attention of almost everyone on the ground was the terrible state of the kid; dark circles puffed out his lower eyelids, while a nest of filth made up for his hair. His robes were wrinkled and shabby, as if he'd slept in them all night, while dried tear stains lined down his cheeks.

“Initiate Cathleen.” Augustus Fringe was the first to call out, looking indifferent to the boy's state. "You're late. And unprofessional. I expect you have a good reason?"

If the kid's shape didn't gain their attention, Augustus Fringe talking certainly did. In her two weeks here, she'd come to realize Fringe held a special position in the Ministry. Not in any official capacity, but in one that inspired discomfort in almost everyone around him. There was just something about that cold and controlled persona that sent shivers down your spine. Almost like Madam Black but with none of her natural charm.

He was also known not to talk unless absolutely necessary. This seemed highly out-of-character for him, and from the way the others were staring, they agreed.

The initiate didn’t answer Fringe, his hollow, unseeing gaze staring past them with as much vigor as a doll. "Diagon Alley got attacked yesterday.” The boy swallowed hard, finally showing some life as new tears started brimming in his eyes. "Got burnt to the ground by You-Know-Who himself."

The mere mention of the Dark Lord seemed to send a wave of unease branching throughout the scattered group.

"An exaggeration." Fringe, on the other hand, remained utterly unaffected by the discomfort shared by his fellow countrymen. "And that is not a valid reason to be late. Your presence was not noted there."

The initiate wilted under his gaze.

Stella couldn’t help but pay a greater attention as the situation unfolded; the talks of the other Dark Lord had always fascinated her—Grindelwald spoke of this ‘Voldemort’ as an unruly child he’d wasted his time on, albeit a very dangerous one. ‘Power without restraint’ and ‘Too shattered to be sane’ were some of the mutterings she’d picked up from his absentminded comments on his rival Dark Lord who seemed to have beaten Death.

But anyone who could inspire fear in a country as absurdly powerful as Britain was worthy of notice.

"Oh, leave the kid be, Gus." A new voice drawled out, its speaker pushing past a couple others to reveal himself. "Not everyone is as dead inside as you. I, for one, was horrified by what we witnessed yesterday. Something like that would never have happened under Rufus."

'Devon Acres.' Stella wrinkled her nose in distaste.

The gang leader of Scrimgeour's asslickers.

He looked older than he was; an oddity amongst wizard kind—magic made it a difficult venture, though Acres somehow managed the feat. It wasn’t the kind of old that comes from the weariness of life, like Harry Potter or Augustus Fringe, whose eyes always carried a weight like they'd seen the end of the world and remained unimpressed.

No, Acres was old with white hairs and wrinkles, not looking the part of his mere 44 years in life. He had tested for level 6 Duelist badge at the same time as her, leading to them being paired against each other. Of the five bouts, he'd won none and lost all.

The level 5 badge on his shoulder must still be smarting him.

"Acres." Fringe greeted the man indifferently, absolutely uncaring of the blatant hostility in the other’s gaze. "I must ask you to keep your opinions to yourself. You may be used to Robards incompetence, but I intend to do my job perfectly."

Surprised comprehension dawned on the faces of her colleagues, though Stella remained woefully confused.

“You?” Acres looked like he’d swallowed something sour. “They made you the second-in-command?"

'Ah.'

Fringe remained unphased. "Indeed. If you have any complaints, you may take it up with the Head Auror."

Acres squared up against Fringe, staring down at the relatively diminutive man with open hostility now. "You know what, 'Gus? Maybe I will."

It was ironic how physically imposing Acres seemed against Fringe, yet all present here knew; should it come to a fight, Acres would be lucky to drag his sorry ass back to the Headquarters.

Before the situation could escalate further—and from the slight smile of contempt that curled up on Gus' face, it would've escalated spectacularly—another Auror pushed herself to the front, walking directly over to the boy.

“Stand still, kid.” She muttered, swishing her wand smoothly through the air and ending with a tap on his nose.

The boy blinked, staring cross-eyed at the wand tip. Then a flash ensued and the tear stains disappeared away, his eyes gaining back their youthful vibrancy, while the nest of filth on his head sorted itself out by sleeking all the way back.

“It’s a cosmetic charm.” The Auror informed, now waving her wand over his clothes. “Won’t last past the hour, but at least the Head Auror wouldn’t be treated to such a sorry sight.”

Sure enough, the boy looked decently presentable now.

The action was enough for the rising tensions to dissipate somewhat, as Fringe and Acres moved away without a word; one calm as a cucumber, the other a seething mess.

"Were you at the Alley yesterday, Audrey?" Marshal Fawley asked. The others were starting to gather together now. "We received the summons too late. By the time we arrived, they'd barricaded everything."

The female Auror nodded, stashing her wand back to her holster. "Yeah, we’d just finished our shift in Hogsmeade when the news came. I got in with the Minister and Madam Black. I know Kingsley and Ela's team reached there first though, even before the Head Auror. She says You-Know-Who wasn't even present when they arrived. Ran away rather than face Potter, she says."

Another snorted—a younger, fresher face, barely in his twenties. "Of course he did. The coward knows he'd get wrecked by the True-Boy-Who-Lived, just like he had years ago,” Stella rolled her eyes, “—especially with a team of Hit-Wizards by his side. All he could do is chew at our limbs like a rat. Just wait till we take the field. Ain't no Death Eater would even dare to show themselves to us."

Sadly for him, all he received for his brave speech was a couple of eye-rolls and a ‘shut up, kid’.

“You would do well to put such foolish notions to rest.” Fringe's voice drowned out every exchange. It would seem their new Second-in-Command was in the mood to talk today. "Or you may pay for it dearly with your life. Voldemort is not someone any of us could contend with, and the Death Eaters have already proven themselves to be lethal in the Black Day."

There was no arguing against that cold, cynical observation. The boy simply swallowed and stared down at his shoes.

"He's right, Laddie." Said Triston Pratt, one of the retired Aurors who'd decided to return, patting the boy on his head to the snickerings of his fellow initiates. "Be on your toes, do as your betters say, and you might just make it back to your Ma in one piece. That's all you gotta do for now."

The boy winced sheepishly. “Y-yeah, well…wasn’t planning to take on You-Know-Who by myself, you know.”

The senior Auror snorted, before turning to Cathleen. "By the by, boy…what had gotten into you? A right state you were in." The old man squinted at him closely. "You ain't related to them two Aurors we lost yesterday, are you?"

Cathleen shook his head. “My parents…they…they were at Diagon Alley yesterday. I don't know if they survived...”

“They did.” The Second-In-Command answered neutrally. “Only three deaths were recorded last night, none of whom were Cathleens." Then, with a tiny sliver of kindness, he continued, “You may wish to check in on St. Mungo’s.”

For the first time, the boy's eyes were fully open. "W-wait, how…are you sure!?"

"Assuredly.” Fringe paused. “If I may ask, why were you so certain about their deaths?"

“Well, I went to the Alley as soon as the news came.” The boy answered. “Couldn’t get through the barricade. They wouldn’t let anyone in. Wrote to Madam Black and the Head Auror. No response.”

Fringe frowned. “You wrote to…I see. That was foolish. Madam Bones and Head Potter have more important things to do than answering your query. Next time, you will come to me."

“Of course, sure thing, it’s just…I didn’t know what to do.” The boy slumped against a support pole, rubbing his eyes. “Everything’s in chaos, everyone’s busy. Thought I should just write to them directly.” He paused, before looking up abruptly, fire in his eyes. “Why aren’t we doing anything?”

“We will, now.”

Silence dominated the ground at the words. The Head Auror had arrived.

Stella hadn’t seen Harry Potter in over two weeks, but it was certainly not enough time for someone to change. Yet the wizard walking towards them seemed taller somehow, his dark hair layered in long locks that created a wave over his forehead.

When she’d first heard the craze behind Harry Potter, she’d felt the world had gone mad. Sure, he’d been an exceptional duelist, almost impossibly so for his age, but that wasn’t enough of a reason to worship a wizard.

Looking at him now though, she could see why someone would choose to put their faith in him. It was still a little far-fetched to her, but she couldn’t deny Harry Potter cut an impressive sight in those custom battle-robes.

Her colleagues must’ve resonated with her opinion, for an orderly file formed in mere moments since his reveal. Even Acres slunk away behind a line quietly.

“You’re all aware of the reason we’re gathered here today.” The man of the moment started, coming to a halt in front of them, a large file clutched in his grasp. “You’re all aware of who I am.”

There was not a hint of arrogance when he uttered those words. His voice reminded Stella of rumbling thunder; commanding, promising, and so very factual.

“I won't waste either of our time on needless pandering to social necessities. I am the head of this department, and you will obey me.” His eyes scanned through the crowd, and seemed to find someone specific. “Or you will leave.”

The grave challenge in those familiar emerald green eyes convinced her that he meant every word.

“Earlier today, you all received a letter,” He continued after a few moments. “A letter requiring your signature. What you weren’t aware of was the disguised contract hidden in the words; none of what I speak, none of what you hear, and none of what we do, will leave your mouth outside this training ground. Your family doesn’t need to know what station you’ll be assigned to. And your friends do not need to know the exact details of your missions.”

He paused again. “I see you’re surprised. Indignant even. But keep this in mind—we are our country’s foremost defense. There can be no compromise in our security. From this point forward, all Auror matters are restricted from discussion. If you wish to speak of it for any reason, you may take permission from me or the Deputy head. If this is not acceptable, you are free to leave, the contract shall be dissolved promptly. The offer stands for the next five minutes.”

Stunned silence encompassed the group.

This is absurd!

Stella couldn’t possibly state how stupid of a move this was, both practically and politically. Not only were they all tricked into it—making it a clear violation of law, no matter the country—the fact that Potter showed no trust or leniency towards those who were supposed to be, by his own words, the 'country's foremost defense' was absolutely galling, and could easily damage their recruitment goal.

Who would wish to join something that restricts their basic freedom and rights on top of being expected to risk their lives in the line of duty? This may not be a slave contract, but it was close enough that many should be uncomfortable. Many should be hurrying for the exit right this instant, laughing in Potter’s face for even daring to think he could pull this off.

Yet none moved.

Some frowned, others whispered, but none moved an inch towards the door. She could understand this of the youngsters, most probably weren't mature or smart enough to form their own opinions, but the grim acceptance from the battle-hardened Aurors? That drove Stella absolutely nuts.

‘This is all for the Chosen One nonsense, isn’t it?” Stella scrunched up her face, staring behind her to see if she missed anyone deciding to leave.

But the only group even showing signs of discomfort were Scrimgeour’s asslickers. And even amongst them, only one seemed like he had something to say.

“This is ridiculous." Acres finally blurted out after a few moments of tense silence, unable to hold it in. “So what? Is this like some monarchy now? We’re supposed to do anything you say?”

“Yes.” Potter replied frankly.

“That’s some bullocks—”

Stella almost didn’t see his wand flicker before the speaker was suddenly suspended in the air.

One moment Acres looked ready to curse their Head, the next he was held legside-up over seven feet off the ground, a startled yell screeching past his throat as his pants started coming loose. His robe, shirt, Dueler badge, and all the bodily assortments quickly came undone as well, flying through the air to be collected beneath Potter’s feet.

With a yell of panic and rage, Acres fell to the ground unceremoniously, now dressed only in his undergarment as the pants joined the small pile of clothes.

Stella averted her eyes. She wasn’t some prude, but she held no desire to see Acres’ hairy-ass chest fixed above his jiggly, flabby belly.

“You may keep your wand.” Potter offered dispassionately. “Now get out. You’re dismissed.”

“Y-you can’t do that! I've been in the department longer than you're alive!" The man hollered at the top of his voice, hiding his dignity with one hand as he searched for support in the crowd. When he found none coming, he raised his other hand—the hand clutching his wand.

The next moment a sickening crunch of bones filled the air, replaced quickly by the howls of a man in pure, unadulterated anguish and pain as he clutched his broken knee, wand forgotten.

“I will not ask again.” Potter’s unfeeling voice. “Leave. Or I shall make you.”

“I…p-please,” The man sobbed, still on the ground. “I a-apologi—!”

And then his body flew through the air, straight past the door that suddenly came open, leaving behind only final notes of a yell filled with despair and pleading.

The door shut closed with a dramatic click, and the ensuing silence hid all the ugliness behind its peaceful cover, as if nothing had ever happened.

Stella could hear her heart thudding in her chest. She tried to quell the budding fear but failed miserably.

This…this was the monster she'd faced in the forest. This was the monster who’d killed two Inner Acolytes like they were nothing.

Of course, he would do something like this.

She rubbed her shoulder subconsciously, where the Mark of Grindelwald was supposed to be etched. She’d never got one herself, hating the idea of being marked like some farm animal.

Now she wished she had. Now she wished desperately for the Red mark that would recognize her as a Senior Acolyte. At least then, she wouldn’t have to face Potter, who in some ways, was more monstrous than Grindelwald.

For all his power, the Dark Lord wasn’t worshiped as a god by half the world.

The Aurors around her stood strangely quiet. No one was rising in rebellion, no one was calling out their 14-year-old head for his illegal actions. She’d thought by being on this side of the laws, at least she would be enjoying its protection for once, but no. She just had to face another man who thought himself above the laws.

Her eyes flickered to her neighbors, and she was left even more stunned when she saw some of them smiling in amusement.

'Uh, Englishmen.' Stella grimaced in disgust. ‘What even goes around in their heads?”

Ahead, Potter gave a sigh, as if the entire thing was just an irritating inconvenience.

Her money was on the spot as he muttered, “Waste of time and resources.” before waving his wand to send the pile of clothes away. “So now that that’s done and over with…where was I?” He stared at them slowly, meeting each set of eyes.

Stella felt a sharp prick in her min, and she immediately raised her mental barriers, batting away the rather skillful attempt at Legilimency. From the flinches on some of her fellow Aurors, she theorized she wasn’t the only one being assaulted.

Potter released another sigh. “So many unprotected minds. I’ve got my work cut out, haven’t I? Well, come on then. Let’s sort out the lot of you.”

With that, he headed straight for the resting area, speaking all the while, “Yesterday, Voldemort and his gang attacked Diagon Alley. Three died, two of whom should’ve been with us today. Tomorrow, more may follow, and you might just be one of them. This is not a joke. You won’t find what you’re looking for here, if the only thing you care about is glory, fame, and a fat paycheck.” Potter paused, glancing back at the trailing group of uncertain Aurors. “Though the last one could be argued upon.”

He was rewarded with a couple of snorts and a low cheer. Stella couldn’t guess how anyone found humor in this situation.

Potter gave a quick smile, before continuing in the same grave tone that made you pay attention, whether you like it or not. “Let me be clear for the younger ones. We’re not hunting common criminals or petty thugs. We’re fighting a war against possibly the two most powerful Dark Lords in the History, and a group of wizards who would gladly waste an extra minute to Crucio you rather than killing efficiently. More likely than not, you’ll end up vomiting your intestines than die a heroic death. Treat this like a game, and I promise you; you will find no do-overs when you lose.”

Upon reaching the shade, Potter conjured a desk and a chair, putting the file down before turning towards them.

“My goal is to avoid this. I will train you. I will remake you, in a vision I see fit. Even those who’ve been Aurors half their life. I do not know how Rufus ran things here, and frankly I do not care. If you have suggestions, you’re free to give them. If you have queries, you’re free to voice them. If you have complaints, you may speak to me. But now that you’ve made your decision, there is no going back, and no escape from hard work. You are not here to be lone heroes, you’re here to become an army of great soldiers. And that, I'm afraid, will take some extra training."

Even uncertain as she felt, Stella had to admit; Potter was made to give motivational speech. There was just something so charismatic about him, something so…unnatural and powerful, that made you want to believe in him, even when your common sense tells you not to.

She didn’t think she’d ever been one to fall for pretty faces, but god if her heart wasn’t beating like a field of stampeding horses.

The next hour or so was a dazed jumble of memories for Stella.

She got to learn about her teammates with more intimacy—from their experience to their skills—as the Head Auror called them out one by one.

But the first official action he took as their head was to dissolve all the preexisting teams and assign new leaders. Stella was not one of them.

She tried not to be disappointed; it was obvious from the start she wouldn’t be one, considering her Initiate status and a stark lack of trust from her peers. But she was one of the only three level 6s present here—four if the Head Auror was counted—and it galled her to be working under someone weaker.

It was another case of Gideon Krafft again.

Still, she'd learnt to adept through bigger shits. This was no different. Though when their Head began assigning new members to the team leaders, Stella desperately wished to be sorted in either Fringe or Audrey Sydney’s team. Working under a fellow level 6 wouldn't be all that bad.

For once, her hopes proved to come true. But of course, life just couldn't be so simple.

When Potter called her forward, she was one of the last unassigned Aurors, already convinced she'd have to serve under the command of someone lesser.

She was nervous when she approached, not knowing how the boy would react to her presence now. The last time they'd met, he had defended her from his own people, and she had lent her assistance in the short fight against Grindelwald. She felt that was bound to produce some trust, even beyond the bit forced by the Oaths.

Enough trust to think he wouldn't just snap her neck out of nowhere.

Yet, as his eyes scanned her from head to toe, clear consideration glinting in those emerald orbs, Stella had to suppress the urge to fidget in place. For whatever reason, his eyes came to rest on her hair, and she stayed still with bated breath.

"You are blonde…" Potter mused absently. "And loyal to me." He paused, cocking his head. "Or, well, loyal to my oaths. But not enough, I think."

For some reason, she felt disappointed at the dismissal in his eyes.

"May I know what you need my hair and loyalty for?" Stella did her best to sound professional, though she was sure a hint of irritation trickled through anyway.

She’d failed to meet whatever he was searching for. She'd failed to pass some obscure test she didn’t even know she was a participant of. It rankled.

"Oh, nothing to be concerned about." He replied dismissively, eyes back to his file. “Let’s see…well, it seems without Devon Acres, we don’t have enough to make another full team. Hmm…” He scratched his chin, before snapping his fingers suddenly as if he’d just had an idea. She was sure that wasn’t the case. “Ah, but I have the perfect solution! I’m assigning you and Tonks with me.”

Stella didn't know whether to cry or rejoice.

By the time their first Auror meeting ended, she just wanted to fall flat on her bed and drown in her dreams. It was too stressful being around Harry Potter.

She could only imagine how she’d survive the rest of her days.

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

The best way to lead was through respect or fear. Harry Potter knew this better than most. He'd earned the former in great amounts from his last group of warriors, and never needed the latter until later in his life.

Things were different now. He didn’t have time to gain his men’s trust. Didn’t have time to forge emotional bonds with any of them. Didn’t have the luxury of having tutored them in their Hogwarts years, hadn't yet led them to victories against Death Eaters.

For all his power and experience, he didn't have the respect of these men. How could he? He was a 14-year-old wonder boy, recently dubbed the True-Boy-Who-Lived, who happened to have defended the helpless crowd from Death Eaters and managed to ‘fight off’ Grindelwald.

He saw this for what it was: a weak link in his perfect plan. He had presumed, justifiably so, that he would feel its negative effects later in the battlefield.

Because to them, he was a legend. A hero, straight from the story tales. The Chosen One, here to save them from prophesied darkness. They adored him now, looked at him with reverence, expecting miracles...but they didn't respect him.

At least, that's what he had assumed before coming to the Auror Training grounds today.

If a dozen Death Eaters once again attacked the Alley tomorrow, would the Aurors listen to his orders? Or would they expect him to reveal his ‘Chosen One’ powers and give them a good show to tell their friends and family? At the heat of the battle, would they accept his commands without any questions, or would they look at the Senior Aurors for guidance?

Even before arriving here, Harry had presumed the worst. Had presumed he wouldn’t be accepted as one of them, now or ever. Had believed it would take only a single chink in his shining reputation to burst their bubble of mysticism regarding him. Had believed it would take months of working together to form them into the cohesive unit of force he’d always envisioned…

Yet, as one of the last Aurors sauntered off the grounds, giving him a nod of respect, he felt he may have been slightly wrong.

This crowd wasn’t mystified by his Chosen One powers. Well, the younger ones were, but not all. Not many at all. No, the older ones had studied him throughout the meeting, taking his measure just as he had theirs. From their final response, Harry felt they liked whatever they saw. Either Rufus had done a bad job of gaining their respect, or they were far more perceptive than he’d given them credit for. He could admit the latter easily, for his opinion of Ministry Aurors had always been dominated more by the likes of Dawlish and Proudfoot than Kingsley and Moody.

For the first time in his life, Harry felt good at being proven wrong.

“Head Auror.” The last remaining Auror still on the grounds greeted, breaking him off from his brief bask in satisfaction.

"Ah, yes. Mr. Fringe." Harry shuffled through the file given to him by his dear Minister, bringing up the right page.

His chosen Second-in-Command tilted his head, studying him silently. “You wished me to remain?”

He nodded, suppressing the urge to take a look inside the man's mind. While he was trying to make Legilimency a regular part of his skillset, he already knew it wouldn’t work. Not on this one.

Breaking eye-contact, Harry let his gaze flicker through the man’s file.

"Passed Hogwarts with seven Newts and an offer of apprenticeship to the Charms Professor that you rejected. Applied in the Auror department but were denied entry due to a lack of offensive skillset in your repertoire. Disappeared from the public eye until your arrest for illegal poaching of magical animals, concentrating mostly on level four and five threats. Created a channel of underground Dueling circuit, and joined Auror department for a second time after the Ministry shut it down, this time successfully. Braved through the Great Wizarding War, praised especially for your subtle spellwork, but only achieved level six two years ago."

He glanced up, carefully observing the shorter man. “From your file, you should've either been put behind bars or become the Second-In-command already."

The man's lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. "I'm afraid Scrimgeour failed in the former, but succeeded in the latter."

Harry hummed, closing the file, but not letting up his gaze. "What did you think of today?"

The dark-skinned man chose his words with care and caution. “I would say it was a success. A much needed improvement over the former Head’s meetings.”

He could see why so many would be discomforted by Fringe's person; those dark, ever-collected eyes barely betrayed his dislike for Rufus. Most would never recognize the slight contortion on his face, but Harry was never most people.

“Oh?” He prodded, smiling. Fortunately for the man, that was one thing they had in common. “Do tell.”

Fringe relaxed slightly. “There is not much to tell. Every meeting began and ended with a sole purpose; to make our Department, and especially its head, look good in the public eyes. Anything else mattered very little.”

Harry raised his brows. He’d always assumed Rufus was a cut-throat politician, but hadn’t imagined it being this bad. After all, you had to have some amount of competence to be in power for so long.

“What was it like, serving under him?” He asked, now curious to know how he compared to his predecessor.

Fringe was quiet for a precious few seconds, jet black eyes peering deep into his soul—asking the purpose behind this line of questioning—before giving a slow, accepting nod at whatever he saw, “I do not mean to speak ill of the dead, but I’m glad that Rufus Scrimgeour is no longer our head. The Ministry would’ve been a fissured place with him still in power. He had always seen this department as a means to an end, and many were dissatisfied by the number of times we had to cover our losses with lies. Voldemort’s return would’ve given him the final nail needed. Had he been here right now, we would’ve been plotting a Ministry takeover, rather than preparing for war against the Dark Lord.”

With the end of his minor rant, Fringe went back to total silence.

‘Wow.’ Harry breathed out slowly.

He was beginning to realize how much of an advantage his current position truly was. If he had to fight the Ministry again whilst plotting against Voldemort? Gods, innocent life or no, he would’ve left Britain to rot, focusing solely on his goal.

Shaking his head, Harry stood up. “I have a task for you, Mr. Fringe.”

“Gus’ is fine. Augustus, if that is not to your liking.”

"Call me Harry then." He vanished the conjured table and chair with a quick swish of his wand, before offering the file to Augustus. "I assume you've realized that I didn't shuffle the teams in a spur-of-the-moment."

Gus nodded. "I did note the rather common skillset the members of each team shared."

"Indeed." Harry moved out of the Resting Shed, waving at the man to follow. "Instead of making a complete team, I want each team built for one specific purpose."

Gus cocked his head. "May I ask why?"

They crossed the large track built around the edges of the training ground, stepping upon the cobbled path leading down to the exit door.

Glancing at Gus, Harry replied frankly, "I don't want the teams to act as individual entities. I want them to depend on each other, to complete one another's weaknesses. The Auror force should stand as a united whole, fingers of a single hand, if you would, instead of separate limbs.

The shorter man stayed quiet for a long moment, eyes stuck on the path as he pondered the idea, before turning to him with a frown. "I can see it working. But you will need a lot more than six teams for this to be truly efficient."

"That's a work in progress."

Upon reaching the exit, Harry slowed down to a halt, turning fully to his Second-in-Command. "This is your task. I may have assigned members based on their skills, but I do not know them individually."

The man nodded in understanding. "And I do. What exactly would you have me do?"

"Form a schedule. We will share a common training session each morning, and I want to cover everything. Assess each Auror on their weaknesses, where they need to improve, and where they're strong. Which of them believes themselves the next Dark Lord hunter and which of them is a team player. Keep our final objective in mind. I shall trust your judgment in the matter."

"It will be done."

With a nod, Harry dismissed the Auror and clicked the door open, heading straight for the Minister's office.

His work was done for today. Now came the time for some pleasure.

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

After, indeed, a very pleasurable visit to the Minister’s office—which extended just past early afternoon—Harry made his way to Hogwarts, his worries making an unwanted comeback.

There was simply too much on his mind for peace, and actively practicing Occlumency at all times wasn’t a desirable solution.

Memories of the Diagon Debacle—as the Prophet called it—simply refused to leave his mind. There was this desperate yearning within him to retaliate against Voldemort somehow, and it had nothing to do with calming the people of England.

Hell, Amelia had already managed to run damage control over the issue, focusing more on the fact that the Dark Lord hadn’t been present when they arrived, leading to many dubbing Riddle with the prestigious title of Cowardly Lord.

Harry had a feeling it was going to stick. Oh, what he wouldn’t do to be a fly on the walls of Black Manor right now.

Still, that didn’t dissipate the angst bubbling in his chest. The attack on Diagon Alley felt personal. Even knowing the probability of that being low, Harry couldn’t help but see it that way. The need for revenge was still very much alive.

A part of him wondered if taking control of the Element was the reason behind it, if it had changed him from within somehow. But deep down he knew that was just an excuse; his hatred for Voldemort was a legend of the old. He didn’t need an Elemental-push for that.

Honestly, with the panic-inducing thought of the future slipping away from his grasp—turning more and more unpredictable by the day—he would’ve probably ended up with some stupid Blaze-of-Glory plan to take down Voldemort…

Thankfully Dumbledore was there to counsel him.

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

3 Sept, 1994
Headmaster’s office, Hogwarts

"We should strike down the Black Manor." Harry said, his mind a whirlwind as he paced the floor. "Take him unawares. His Horcruxes may not be gone, but I'll feel much better hunting them if he was still a wraith."

"A desirable idea, but ultimately unfeasible."

"Bella could get us in." Harry replied, barely listening. "Sneak us in the night or something, along with a bunch of Aurors. A single Killing Curse is all I'll need."

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment before shaking his head. "I doubt Tom would be so careless as to overlook something so simple. And even should we get in unharmed, trying to kill Voldemort where he would be the strongest is...unwise. I'm sure, even as weakened as I am, I could likely defeat him, especially with you and your Aurors along. But in the Manor? Surrounded by the wards? And the Death Eaters? The best case scenario would be us eliminating his support, and him fleeing. Worst? We both end up dead and the world is doomed."

Then, in an amused tone, he added, "And may I say? I truly doubt your Godmother would ever let you risk your life like that."

Harry huffed, suddenly drained. He conjured himself a seat and plopped down without ceremony. 'Merlin, but it would've been so much better if I was still an unknown, mysterious fourth year, with no connection to anyone. No family, no friends, only Voldemort and the Horcruxes. '

Sure, the death toll in the country would've been much higher, and Amelia would've probably been a cold body six feet deep by now, but at least it wouldn't have been his responsibility to look after the needs of an entire nation.

Harry paused, quickly dismissing the foolish line of thought. Whatever inconvenience it may have presented him, he wouldn't trade Lily and Bella for the world. And that list seemed to only grow larger with time; Fleur, Amelia, Apolline, Gabrielle, Dora...

Ahead, Dumbledore heaved a commiserative sigh. "Harry, I understand your anger. I truly do. But now is really not the time for action. We need peace, to stabilize our people and prepare you for the fight.”

The old man stood up and slowly glided over to his pensive, staring down at the shimmering liquid absently. “Voldemort has played his cards extremely well, sowing doubts in the minds of people. Of the two, they were always more afraid of Grindelwald, and the decade of absence has muted their fear for what many may consider to be the lesser Dark Lord. They look at you now to see them both gone, but that could change quickly if Tom demonstrates the cunning and power I know he has in spades. If he starts moving against Gellert, show a more kind, patient hand to the people…”

He looked up slowly, a frown fixed on his brows. “I don't mean to think badly of Britain, but from your own memories, our people haven't exactly been the stable well of support their hero deserves. Right now, he is not looking for confrontation. His attention is focused on conquering the rest of Europe—"

"Where did you gather that?"

Dumbledore paused, raising a brow. "Severus was summoned yesterday. And before you ask, no. There was no feasible way for him to inform us of the attack on Diagon Alley. Not without risking his position greatly."

Harry muttered to himself. ‘What use is he as a spy then?’

"My point is...this is the moment we seize the upper hand, not only in England, but over our neighboring countries as well. The greatest magical schools in Europe are about to share our roof for an entire year, and their Ministers would be right there with them. I would be most disappointed if we fail to take advantage of this."

Harry sighed in defeat, finally letting go of the absurd plan. "You're right, of course. Don't mind me, I'm just venting. When I came here, the first thing in my To-do list was to hunt down the Horcruxes and make him mortal before the third task. Then trigger the trap and kill Baby Voldy like the defenseless little baby he would've been. And now... everything's gone off the rockers. I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. I had a plot but I lost it somewhere along the journey last month. Now I seem more preoccupied with bending my Minister over her table and making her scream my name louder every time." Rubbing his chin, he mused absently. "Probably has something to do with this hormonal body. Damn Sly-Harry."

Dumbledore coughed, hiding a pretty blatant smile in his fist. "Yes, well...I'm sure you're doing your best. Keeping healthy relations with the Minister is an important task after all, we wouldn't want her for an enemy. Besides, you also have Elemental magic to learn—which will be vital in your victory against the Dark Lords, along with the Aurors that you’re training...so I would say you're still on the right track."

"...You think so?"

"Why, Harry," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled like the brightest of stars. "I know so."

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

The days following his meeting with Dumbledore passed like one giant blur of memories for Harry. His schedule was so tight it looked like a restaurant order, filled with heavy main course, light side dishes, and a few, like very few, tasty beverages; in the form of Amelia or Tonks. There was always something to do, always something to tackle; from commanding his Aurors to training in the arts of Elements, from keeping Slytherins in line to researching new spells, and on rare occasions, even attending classes—Runes was one subject he made sure never to miss.

Yet, it never truly troubled him this time.

He had taken his mentor’s advice to heart, and it gave him the much needed peace amidst the storm that was his life. Sure, things were slipping out of his grip, the future was changing too fast, too drastically for him to rely on foreknowledge, but so what? He had time. He had support. He had friends and lovers that he could trust. And he had the best mentor the wizarding world could hope to provide bound to him by magic.

He would figure out the rest in time. That was really the only good plan he'd ever made anyway. Just go with the flow and let the Potter luck sort him out. Extensive planning had never been his shtick.

That didn't mean he took his duties for granted. He reserved his morning hours for the Ministry and began training his Aurors with increasing brutality that seemed to leave even the veterans surprised. Perhaps it may give him a bad reputation in the long term, but he didn't really care. These wizards and witches had the chance to learn skills that took him and his friends a brush with death inside a safe environment. They may whisper behind his back, call him cruel, but it would save their lives someday.

He knew it would've saved Ron's. And Ginny's. If they hadn't been taken by surprise, if they hadn't lowered their guard, if they'd been a touch more organized, a touch more creative, a touch more resourceful and a touch more informed....they wouldn't have died.

Well, his Aurors could now become what his last army never could.

An unbeatable team.

‘As long as we don’t have a Finnigan in our midst…’ He would leave no stone unturned to ensure the security of his soldiers.

To his surprise, he received nothing but total participation from them. Perhaps it was due to the memories of the Black Day, perhaps the recent devastation of Diagon Alley, or maybe even some kind words from his Second-in-Command. Whatever the case, not even the youngest, most spoiled looking brat raised an issue when their bodies were left sore and sweating by the end of each session.

With the added strength of his Aurors, Magical Britain was well on its way of recovery. It still wasn’t the powerhouse it used to be, but Harry was sure their recovery was the swiftest amongst all the affected countries.

After all, his name attracted soldiers to his cause like moths to flame. Even some famous, independent Duelists decided to leap at the chance of serving under him.

Before the Red Hour, there were around 50 active Aurors under Scrimgeour, forming over 17 teams of 3. Harry had redesigned their entire structure, so now each team consisted of 4 Aurors, and he could deploy 9 of them at a moment’s notice. It might not seem much, but compared to the measly dozen Aurors that had remained after the night, the difference was of Heaven and earth, and new recruits arrived in droves each day.

While some were turned away—being either too weak or too unfit to invest any kind of resources—most were made use of in some ways. The cream of the crop he took for himself, the Brainless-But-Skilled fighters were dumped on Longbottom and Kingsley, and the rest were trained as part of Bella's special Law Enforcement squad. While technically he and Longbottom answered to Bella, she didn’t want their soldiers wasted on petty frauds in Diagon Alley; shutting down peddlers and thieves.

Plus, she spoiled him too much, letting him get away with things even the Minister would have to answer for. Honestly, if she’d simply demanded his secrets by now, Harry would’ve probably caved in before too long. He made sure to spend at least one evening a week doing whatever the fuck she wanted.

But while the matters at the Ministry were progressing smoothly, Hogwarts simply wasn't the same. The first week passed splendidly, sure. His theoretical knowledge of Elemental magic progressed almost as rapidly as his practical—giving him a clue on just how stupidly risky his attempt at the Alley had been. He was lucky he got away with only a nosebleed and light headache, instead of ending up braindead in St. Mungo’s.

Apart from Elemental magic, he also polished up his conjuration and transfiguration, whilst putting some more research into the Dark Arts—especially the spell that had left his leg ruined beyond his wildest nightmare. He’d never made regular use of Dark arts deeper than Sectumsempra in his Duels before, preferring his well-honed and practiced spells over corruptive and perversive magic. But now, with his Occlumency and Intent control, it merited a further look.

And with full access to the Restricted Section—even the ones Dumbledore hid from the rest of the school—it would be a great insult to his Hermione if he did not take full advantage.

Which was ironic, for the first blemish on his otherwise perfect schedule came from the Duo of the Trio, when they finally cornered him in the fucking Library!

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

9 Sept, 1994
Hogwarts Library

They caught him whilst he was perusing the northern shelf for an advanced copy of Basic Runes.

He'd done his best to avoid their attempts for the entire week, but he'd clearly underestimated their persistence. Or overestimated their intelligence.

Then again, wouldn't his own friends have gone to extreme lengths if something happened to him? To find even a morsel of information? No matter the risk?

So perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised when Ron and Hermione Jr. finally managed to trap him mere moments before he was about to enter the restricted section.

"Mr. Weasley, Ms. Granger." He nodded to them both as if he hadn’t spent the last week avoiding the mere shadow of their presence, though giving a mental wince when Occlumency—’cause there was no way he was doing this without its calming assurance—made his tone come off far more curt than he'd wanted.

It surprised them as well, if their sudden hesitation was anything to go by.

Still, were they someone to easily give up after rough words, they'd never have been able to keep up with his brand of insanity.

"Potter." Ron glowered, fingering his wand. "You know why we're here?"

Hermione elbowed him subtly but the damage was done. He'd just given Harry a way to avoid this.

Hiding the triumph from his eyes, Harry eyed the boy’s wand with pointed disinterest. "Are you threatening me, Mr. Weasley? Threatening the Head Auror? Azkaban may no longer be standing, but I assure you your time in prison won’t be very pretty."

The boy blanched, all the bravado draining down his freckles as turned paler, eyes flickering to Hermione Jr. in silent pleading.

The bushy-haired girl pointedly did not roll her eyes, instead turning to him with her own pleading eyes.

"Please, Harry." She attacked him straight where it hurt. "We only wish to know what happened to our friend. They kept us hidden during the fight, only to announce that Jacob had joined Grindelwald! We just...it's all been just so stressful. You-Know-Who is back, Jacob has left us, you're the Boy-Who-Lived, and no one is saying anything, they just want us to keep our heads down and ignore…"

She chattered on, but Harry found himself slowly tuning her out, his eyes taking her appearance in full without flinching for the first time in this life.

Hermione looked good. And different. In fact, she looked very different. He would still recognise her from a distance, but there was just something missing about her.

Harry blinked, frowning.

Was it his tired eyes playing tricks, or did her hair look much less frizzled than he remembered them to be? And her teeth…she still had those large front teeth at the start of their fourth year, didn't she? Did Draco hit her with a Densaugeo already? Or did she simply never have them here in the first place? And the shape of her face, why was it so…well, pretty?

Now that he thought about it, she did look pretty. Like, really pretty.

Hermione had never been ugly in her life, but she also wasn't known for her looks. At least, not until the Yule Ball. She'd grown up to be a beautiful lady of course, but it would seem she already was one in this world, though not in a way he recognised. It was like someone had taken a picture of Hermione and…perfected her, somehow.

In a way, he liked it. It made disassociating her with his Hermione much more easier. On the other hand…he was suddenly far more interested in her for his own good.

His eyes lowered from her face, scanning her in her entirety. Was it simply his bias for his former lover coming through, or was she just more…womanly right now than she was ever supposed to be?

Harry frowned, shaking a very wrong mental image away as he Occluded his brief rise in excitement. He'd never been attracted to someone so much younger than him before, and it was making him a tad bit confused. ‘She’s just fifteen!’

But aren't you even younger? At least, a part of you. Your body and your soul.

He paused, having never even pondered upon this issue. Would it be right for him to date someone this young? His body was a 14-year-old’s, even though it looked much older. And his mind was a combination of his two selves, so should he consider himself at his oldest? Or the youngest? Or meet somewhere in the middle?

Okay, mission abort, mission abort! That was a dangerous line of thinking that he’d need more time to completely assess. And even if there wasn’t anything morally wrong with dating Hermione, it didn’t mean he should. That was a can of worms better left closed.

Though it did make him wonder…did he even care about this type of morality anymore? Honestly, if both were happily consenting, who could judge him? Who would dare?

Thankfully, Hermione didn’t appear to have noticed his momentary distraction, only just finishing her speech and looking up at him with big, hopeful eyes. Ron, however, was back to his charming, glowering self.

Harry turned to the girl, having no idea what she’d just said. There was only one option to consider here. "Detention."

Now it was Hermione’s turn to blanch, her righteous expectancy turning to glorious offense in a split second. "You can't do that!"

Harry raised a brow.

"You...you can't, right?"

He took great amusement from her sudden uncertainty.

No one knew what Harry Potter was anymore. Was he a student with special privileges? Or the Head Auror who merely dressed like a student?

It usually led to more than one interesting theory that Harry took great entertainment from.

"It will be detention if you don't stop this silly chase. I have more things to do than satisfy your curiosity."

The kids looked suddenly depressed.

Sighing, Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose and decided to have some pity. "That said, you two should really make peace with the truth. Jacob wasn't kidnapped, wasn't coerced or forced to join the Dark Lord. He chose it of his own will, knowing he was walking towards the killer of his father. I don't know why he chose to do it, seeing as I barely knew him."

Ron mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'And whose fault is that?' and Harry changed his mind about pity.

"Maybe he wasn't satisfied with the way things were, or maybe he didn't like his family anymore." Then peering closely at the boy, Harry noted detachedly, "Or maybe, he felt his current duo of friends weren't enough and decided to gain new ones. Who knows really?"

The two had gone completely silent, all fight leaving them as if he'd just confirmed something they suspected all along. Harry felt a little bad, but needs must. Had they kept up this stupidity, his own stupid part would've resonated with them and he'd have ended up deciding to regain their friendship or something just as absurd.

'It's better this way.' Harry comforted himself as the duo slunked away after a word of thanks. 'At least they won't be dragged into a war again. They've already done enough.'

War should be fought by trained soldiers, not teenagers who haven't finished enjoying their Hogwarts years.

He decided to forgo the hypocrisy in that statement and put the conversation in the back of his mind.

There were other things that needed his attention.

Like hunting Horcruxes.

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

That was where his next blemish in life came. Hunting Horcruxes did not go as planned.

Once things settled down into the mundanity of life, Harry and Dumbledore reserved an evening from their usual duties for the special venture outside Hogwarts. He'd placed his most offensive Auror team—led by Audrey Sydney, the original team leader he'd chosen for Hogwarts—closer to the castle, just in case; the disaster of the last life forcing him to be extra cautious, even knowing how unlikely any such attack was.

Then he Apparated them to the cave, remembering the smell of sea and rushing waves so vividly even now.

Contrary to his fears, their job went near perfectly. The cave had remained unchanged across the realities, and the traps were just as pathetically morbid. Sadly, for all his experience with magic, the basin remained a complete mystery to Harry even now. He’d been sure there was another way to get past the potion, but all his suggestions were calmly reasoned against by his mentor, and there was no other choice but to do it the old-fashioned way.

It was no great pleasure watching Dumbledore become a crying, blubbering mess now than it had been before. He would've thought, after everything the man put him through in his last life, his darkened heart would take at least some form of sick pleasure, but nope.

It was torture for both of them.

He simply didn't consider this Dumbledore to be the same as his predecessor. And even if some things were the same, the old man had already helped him too much to be bitter for long.

He wagered without Dumbledore, he’d have been lost as a kitten.

While he still didn’t trust him fully, he wouldn’t wish such pain upon him either. Before it had begun, he’d desperately argued for him to be the poison drinker this time, but Dumbledore was having none of it. The old man could be one stubborn fossil when he wanted to be.

The inferi were no challenge this time. In fact, they proved adequate practice material for his Elemental magic training. Dumbledore had kept him focused on Fire due to the events of the Alley, but Harry didn’t mind. He’d found rapid success with the Element, understanding the emotion that fueled it to a high degree, and was more than happy to test it on a live subject—or, well, dead this time.

Harry imagined he looked cooler than Dumbledore when he flooded the cave with two massive Sphinxes of red inferno that disintegrated the creatures into ashes. Dumbledore’s grunted ‘show off’ as his faculties returned didn’t take away from his achievement.

With that, they’d successfully retrieved the locket and left the cave, quickly Apparating away to the safety of castle walls.

Sadly, that was where good news ended.

Days after the incident, Harry was still pissed off with this R.A.B and made sure to curse his name every time something bad happened.

With the locket being a dud, there were now two Horcruxes whose locations were completely unknown to them.

He didn’t let the failure ruin his mood for long though. However, a large credit for it certainly went to his close-knit group of relationships that kept him afloat through the uncertainties of life; the evening meals with Lily and his sisters was like a cool, soothing balm of comfort and love, where he could forget all his plotting, planning, duties, and responsibilities, and simply enjoy a meal with the people he loved. And sometimes, at weekends, Harry would collect Bella and Apolline along to spend some quality time together.

In the third week of Hogwarts, something interesting unfolded. He’d been ignoring Malfoy’s letters for a while now, watching in amusement as they grew more and more desperate, and waiting for the perfect moment to strike…

The opportunity fell on his lap on 17th September.

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

17 Sept, 1994
Dungeons, Hogwarts

Suppressing the urge to fix his tie for the third time in a row, Draco Malfoy trudged down the corridor leading to the Common room with purposeful steps.

After weeks of agonizing over the issue, his plan had progressed past the initial step: Harry Potter had deigned to give him a moment of his time.

A great feat indeed, when you consider the fact that he never entered the Dungeons for days at a time, attended classes sparingly and on his own schedule, and spent most of the time outside the castle doing Merlin knows what. To have him give you minutes of his time was an honor.

All it had taken was a week of waiting in the Common Room night after night, apologizing to Zabini and asking for his help, peppering Potter with enough letters to drown in, and tearing the little respect he still had remaining for himself into tiny pieces.

Some of the things he’d written in his more desperate moments…Draco cringed even thinking about it. He wondered how Potter had reacted to the offer of learning to dance from him. Probably in disgust. He knew he would’ve.

He was sure Zabini had been laughing at him silently when he suggested it.

Still, at least his efforts had finally borne some fruits. Now he just had to pray Potter wasn’t too annoyed by all the attempts, and would actually hear him out before deciding to use him as target practice.

Draco wondered how much of his dignity would still remain after this day. He could only hope, when he was forced to kneel and bare his throat to Potter, there wouldn't be anyone else to notice.

‘At least Daphne isn’t in the castle.’ That was one good thing about Potter accepting to meet on a Saturday. Most of the castle was out at Hogsmeade.

"Malfoy!" The rough voice of Lucian Bole called out, his heavy figure pausing in his urgent journey to get away from the Common Room. "Where do you think you're going?"

Draco stifled the urge to snap, instead giving what he believed to be a rather polite nod. "Exactly where you believe, Bole. Now if you'll excuse me?"

He tried to swerve past him, but the older boy quickly blocked his path.

"You realize Potter is in the Common room, yeah? The High Prince has ordered us to vacate the place for now. You should’ve left the castle when you had the chance. Now wait till he’s gone like the rest of us."

Draco struggled not to roll his eyes. After everything he'd gone through, politics simply didn't hold as much weight in his life as it once did.

Even if it had, he doubted he'd have been able to wrap his head around the current state of the House. He was still in sheer disbelief over the fact that Picquery had managed to hold onto his position for this long, after blatantly licking Potter's arse everyday for the last three weeks.

No one quite knew exactly what went down between Picquery and Potter, but the High Prince's attempts at presenting himself as some trusted Herald of the Chosen One, whilst running at the first sign of him, were nothing less than absolute disgrace to their House.

The type of disgrace that wouldn’t be tolerated in the House of Snakes.

Draco wagered there was something more going around in the background. Something he would've found out long ago, had he not been angsting over his own fate the entire time. Now he was sure even Pansy knew more about the current climate of Slytherin politics than him.

Still, all this didn't matter. What mattered was the fact that Potter was already in the common room.

Draco was late.

Pushing past Bole and ignoring his indignant yells, Draco hastened his pace as much as he dared without making it obvious. No matter how low the holes his life pushed him in were, his Malfoy pride would always stay by his side.

As he left the dorm’s corridor, he passed another stream of students, though none stopped to warn him again. By the time he reached the high arched entrance of the Common Room, the entire place had turned more desolate than it ever did on Christmas Eve.

Draco entered the Room cautiously.

His target couldn’t have been easier to find if he was tap dancing in the middle of the room. For he sat at the head table like the King of Slytherin, a small, contemptuous smile dancing on his face as he saw a panicked student slip away, all attempts at subtlety gone.

Draco often wondered about that. Trying to figure this new Potter out was an exercise in futility, but the most absurd of his newfound traits was the strange contempt for Slytherins he seemed to have developed. It made him question if the boy even belonged in this house anymore.

The answer to which he would have to ponder at another time, for those contemptuous eyes soon fell upon him.

"Ah, Draco..." The sneer of contempt around his name sent his heart shivering.

‘Great.’ Just the start he needed. He absently wondered if Potter wasn’t a secret Dark Lord in the making.

Forcing his spine to bend, Draco gave a deep bow of utmost respect. "Lord Potter." Anything to soften the Head of the Aurors.

“Hmm.” Potter remained unimpressed, waving at the chair beside him. "Sit. I read your latest letter. You’ve made some interesting promises."

Draco wracked his brain searching for said promise, yet nothing truly impressive came to mind. The last letter had been on a more mundane level—he could only guess Potter meant the loyalty of the Malfoy family. That was the only promise that held any true importance.

As he approached the high table, he quickly scanned the room to see if there was anyone present to see his moment of desperation. He was relieved to find none.

‘Did Potter tell Pickery to arrange this?”

Whatever the case, it wasn't enough for the level of risk he was taking by talking to Potter directly. If the news made it back to the Dark Lord, he could only imagine the consequences…

Still, it would be stupid to make demands of Potter.

So as he reached the table, he gave another deep bow, hoping to win him with respect. "May I please request we take this matter to a more private setting? I'm afraid the things I'm about to reveal may reach the wrong ears."

Potter hummed, picking up a glass of crystalline blue liquid Draco hadn’t noticed earlier. His striking eyes stared at him over the rim as he took a sip, seeming to peer into his soul.

Draco made the grave mistake of meeting his eyes.

Suddenly a sharp pinching sensation grew behind his eyes, and a memory wrenched itself from his mind before he could so much as move. Realization dawned a moment later, but even as Draco quickly broke eye contact, the memory replayed in his mind with near perfect clarity.

The fact that it was over quickly mattered not even a little.

Humiliation burned in his chest like lethal acid. The memories of that day were already torture enough, but even worse was the feeling of being invaded by another wizard so easily. To have someone enter your mind, do as they pleased, see your biggest failures…it hurt.

Shame dug its claw into the pit of insecurity within his heart, but besides clenching his fist tightly enough to nearly draw blood, Draco dared not utter the nastiness bubbling in his mouth.

This is for my family. He whispered to himself, even as he forced back angry tears. This is for my family.

His will was tested further when mocking laughter cut through the hall, ringing in his ears with a painful sting.

Draco clenched his teeth, not opening his eyes to hide the anger within.

"Oh, you've got nerves, don't you?” Potter asked, a smile in his voice. “To ask of me such a favor, after everything you’ve done. Did you think I forgot, Malfoy? So soon since we last spoke?” He paused. Then, suddenly growing more intense, he commanded again. “Sit.”

Draco fumbled into a seat, keeping the shaking of his hands hidden by holding them together, whilst trying to empty his mind according to his Occlumency lessons.

He was beginning to think coming here had been a mistake. His father obviously didn't see it, but Potter was just as big of a threat as You-Know-Who and Dumbledore. His previous tantrums for revenge now seemed absurdly childish—was there ever even the slightest bit of possibility of him coming close to harm Potter?

‘I should’ve just gone to Professor Potter.’ He thought bitterly. Sure, she didn’t like him any better, but at least she wouldn’t start the meeting by raping his mind.

“So,” His tormentor started, and Draco finally dared to open his eyes. “Daddy Malfoy bit off more than he can chew, and decided to send his junior as an offering. Is that about it?”

Stinging retorts formed on his tongue instantly, but he quelled them down swiftly, responding with only a jerked nod. Actively focusing on Occlumency made it all a tad bit easier.

"Hmm…" Potter leaned back, rubbing his chin as his eyes flickered around the room, before finally coming to rest on the arms of the elevated cushioned chair he sat upon.

The brief, silent pause gave Draco a chance to properly collect himself, burying the bitterness and anger deeper in his heart as he reminded himself exactly why he was here. Too much rested on this moment to give into emotions.

“So, this is Slytherin’s seat of power, the birthplace of all teenage scheming.” Potter mused, draining his glass after one good swirl. “Loath as I am to spend more than five minutes at a time in the Dungeons, I have to admit it's a beautiful place.”

Draco searched for something to say, but words couldn’t find him right now. At least, words that wouldn’t cause offense one way or another.

Something must've shown on his face, for Potter suddenly looked mightily amused. "Go on then, Draco. Your letter spoke most confidently of your ability to make this worth my while. I'll admit I'm curious to see what you could possibly hope to offer me."

Draco closed his eyes briefly. In truth, he had nothing. He had been counting on his acting to hide the desperation of their situation, and rely on the solid reputation of Malfoys to present Potter with the illusion of an enticing offer. But that ship had sunk so far down the ocean now, that even trying to retrieve it would see him drowning from the start.

All he could deal with now was empty promises, and he had a feeling Potter was fully aware of this.

Still, he would be dead and buried before he gave up without even trying.

So nodding with as much dignity as he could muster, he responded, "Certainly, Lord Potter, I wouldn’t waste your time for nothing.” He switched off his 'Shame' button, gathered as much courage as was available in his heart…and started waffling. “Firstly, I offer to you my family's loyalty."

Potter snorted.

Swallowing, Draco continued. "The Malfoy family is open to officially becoming a vassal of House Potter for the next three generations, with all the political implications it brings.”

It sounded good and proper on paper, Draco had to admit, but in truth it was as empty of a promise as a jar of shiny coins kept beside a niffler. It could grant the Lord of House Potter a source of prideful boasts, but that was about it. Since the Wizengamot’s dissolution, there was no true power behind such arrangements anymore.

His father would have approved of this move.

Before Potter could realize that, Draco quickly moved on. “Secondly, I offer you the use of my services. As you well know, I’m a…uh, advanced Dueler, and a decent potioneer, and am well acquitted in—"

"Enough." Potter declared gravely, the word containing so much aggravation Draco knew he wasn't asking.

He shut his mouth up.

"I have shown you courtesy enough." There was a tone of finality in his voice that made Draco start panicking. "I consider it my lucky day if I get some free hours. I will not waste it on the likes of you. Your family has dug themselves a hole large enough to swallow a city. Let them pay for it with their lives. If you're smart, you will leave this country and run as far away as possible."

Potter stood up.

Draco felt like he was falling into the abyss. "Please. Please, I-I assure you, if you just give me a chance to—"

"The truth is, Malfoy, you have nothing to give." Potter cut through coldly. "Your vaults were the only valuable thing in your family. Without your money, the Malfoy name holds as much power in Magical Britain as a muggleborn. You do not have a female to marry off and forge new ties. Your library is useless—you have no Family magic, no known practitioner of Elemental magic, so knowledge isn't something you can entice me with either. The highest Dueler in your family is your father, who would get wrecked by half the seventh years here, who would love to serve me of their own volition."

He shook his head, a sparkle of pity glinting in his eyes. "You have no money, no knowledge, no power…you have nothing for me. Why would I save your family, when all it brings is a risk of betrayal and an unnecessary drain on my resources."

Draco’s breaths came in quick, shallow gasps, an unnatural breathlessness assaulting his being. Feeling bile hit the back of his throat, his mind scrambled to respond, searching for anything, anything to get out of this mess. “Y-you won’t have to worry about betrayal from us, I promise you. If y-you want, I-I can make an Unbreakable Vow..."

Potter sighed, waving him off. "Do you not understand, Draco? I have no need of your loyalty. I don’t want it.”

“Please,” Finally, Draco Malfoy begged, tears pricking his eyes sore. “I beg of you, please. You saw him…you saw…” He choked off.

Potter was solemn in his response, “What I saw was a drunk man putting his burden on his son because he is too cowardly to do it himself. Your sympathy is wasted on him."

The words hit him like an iron hammer, robbing him of all restraint and hesitation as he realized…this was it.

Malfoys were done.

“Potter, please!” There was nothing planned or calculated when he scrambled from his seat and threw himself at his benefactor’s feet. There was only impulsive desperation to avoid the inevitable. “Harry! I beg of you. Mother speaks of Aunt Bellatrix fondly, even if they aren't close anymore. I know you probably don’t care, but for the sake of a relationship that is tied by blood…let her live, at least. Please, Harry…I would do anything. Anything. Just…keep my parents safe. All our issues in the past…I will pay for it until the end of my life. Don't punish my parents for that."

There was no pride in him anymore. No care for dignity, no heart for revenge. When he slowly picked his face off of Harry Potter’s feet and stared up at him, there was only willingness. Willingness to do anything to keep his family safe.

For a second those green eyes flashed with something close to triumph, something so inhumanly calculating glinting at its core that his heart stopped for a brief moment.

Then the Light Lord tilted his head and looked at him with a sliver of kindness and pity, and Draco dismissed it as a trick of shadow, angry at himself for trying to justify his old hatred even now.

“If I am to do this,” Lord Potter spoke hesitantly, as if pained he was even considering the idea. “I will need assurances.”

Draco nodded rapidly, climbing back to his feet slowly. “Anything.”

Slowly, The Head Auror retook his seat, waving at him to follow. “I may have a task for your father. It will be dangerous, of course. Anything involving a Dark Lord always is. But should he…succeed, it might help my cause.”

Draco swallowed down the impulsion to argue, simply nodding.

“And I will, of course, need that Unbreakable Vow.”

“Of course.”

"But until then…Bella." Lord Potter prompted. "Tell me about her."

Draco swallowed, a little thrown off. Normally he would be trying to divine the cause behind the sudden inquiry, but now he simply scrambled to remember all he could about Bellatrix Black, using the little Occlumency he knew to bring up all the relevant memories. "What would you like to know?"

"Everything. You said your mother speaks fondly of her? Tell me of the conversations."

Draco slowly nodded, wondering what exactly his new patron wanted to hear about his estranged Aunt. He had only said that in a moment of desperation, and in some scant hope of forming some familial bond. While his mother did talk about her sister sometimes, it wasn’t always in the favorable light.

And the last thing he needed right now was to ruin all of this by accidentally insulting Harry Potter’s godmother.

He decided to open with the safest story.

"I don't know if you're aware of this...but there's a reason why so many Lords dislike Aunt Bellatrix."

Potter motioned for him to go on.

And so, he told him.

He told him of the time when Mother was in her last year at Hogwarts, and the Blacks hated their eldest daughter. Of how adamantly they pushed her to marry Lestrange and tie their family to the Dark Lord. And when the then European Dueling Champion, finally fed up with her family, issued her ultimatum; challenging anyone to take up wand against her. Should they win, her hand would be theirs. Should they lose? They would live in shame and never bother her again.

More than a decade since that day, Madam Black still remained unconquered. And not for a lack of trying. Almost all the families in Sacred 28 had tried their wand against her, including his father; and all had failed as miserably as the next. Eventually, the challenges slowed, and then stopped entirely, for there was no one left to defeat. This was, his mother believed, what truly pushed Bellatrix further in the Ministry—her fearsome reputation had her climbing the slope quicker than most, eventually becoming the youngest witch to Head the DMLE.

By the end of the tale, Lord Potter sat quietly with his chin in his palm, and his eyes far away.

Then he nodded slowly, coming back down the earth. Draco couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking, especially when a coy smile slowly spread upon his face.

"The man who gets her will be lucky indeed."

Draco failed to hold back the snort. "I don’t think Dumbledore or the Dark Lords are going to challenge Aunt Bella any time soon."

Potter hummed, his knuckles clacking against the High table in rhythmic taps, "Tell me, Draco...was there any other man in her life? Even once?"

Draco swallowed, trying to remember if Mother ever said anything in this regard, but coming up completely blank. "I-I apologize, but I never asked. Though I’m sure mother will know! Why, if you wish me to, I can write a letter right this instan—"

"No." Potter interrupted. "I wish to speak to your mother myself."

Draco nodded, daring to hope. "So does that mean...?"

Potter sighed. "It would depend on your mother. The only reason I was even willing to hear you out was because of her. You were right, I don't think Bella would've been too happy with me if I let her little sister die. Inform your mother, I will arrange a date for us to meet. I shall discuss the details of our...alliance, with her. Until then, consider yourself to be under my protection."

The sheer relief that spread through him at those words was...mind-blowing.

"But of course, if I am to give you protection, I shall need something in return."

"Anything."

Potter paused, before grinning cruelly. "Don't be so quick to agree. I did see your talk with Malfoy Sn. Taking Parkinson in front of you is well within my acceptable form of currency."

The look of horror on his face must've been something, for Potter burst out in genuine laughter for the first time that day.

"Relax. I need you for only one thing right now: to be my eyes and ears in Slytherin. Your case has made me realize that perhaps I was too quick to judge this House. See if there are any others in a similar situation as you. Do not approach them without informing me, simply take notes. You can do that, yes?"

"Of course." For the first time that night, Draco felt a flicker of his old confidence returning to him.

Politics had always been a game he excelled at.

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

The rest of the month till the Triwizard tournament passed in the blink of an eye. Harry was pleased as a peach with himself, his foresight to hold the tournament sooner this time proved to come in handy, for he was just about getting bored with Hogwarts real quick. Another month with nothing happening, and he would've made his own entertainment from the bones of basilisk underneath.

As much as he’d once missed the castle, he had to admit there was little in its four safe corners that could fascinate Harry anymore. He felt the most alive when Dueling Dumbledore or practicing live formations with his Aurors—Apparating all around England.

That was another thing that managed to surprise him—his easy acceptance within the group. He had thought seeing him as a normal human who didn’t shoot twinkling stars out of his arse would alienate a few—there was nothing worse than meeting your hero in real life and realizing they weren’t what you believed them to be.

And yet, after three weeks, the awe he inspired amongst the younger Aurors was still as strong as the first day. Perhaps it was his skills as a Duelist; seeing him wipe the floor with Stella, then taking all three level 6s together might’ve been an awe-inspiring sight to a rookie. He hadn’t won the 3v1 challenge, but he hadn’t lost either. It was, perhaps, the toughest challenge he’d faced to date, but his rising skill in Elemental magic meant that his arsenal of magic was slowly but surely increasing.

Whatever the case, Harry was greatly satisfied with his position amidst his Aurors, and always looked forward to the next outdoor excursion.

His friend group still remained limited to a lone Blaise Zabini who nagged at him for the details of his meeting with Draco. After a quick glance into his mind to make sure there were no ulterior motives, Harry coughed up a couple of things, focusing mostly on the ways he’d made the Malfoy scion squirm.

From his amusement, Harry guessed he appreciated the gesture.

He didn’t reveal the darker aspects of course. Of how he’d pushed the little ferret to the end of his sanity, to squeeze out every bit of his usefulness as he possibly can. Not accepting his letters for the first three weeks was probably the best decision he’d made.

Honestly, even he was surprised how perfectly everything had fallen into place. Now he had a real chance of getting his own spy inside Riddle’s band of troublemakers. He could only hope Malfoy Sn. would survive at least one Death Eater gathering before becoming Lordly-chew.

It would seem there was some Slytherin in him after all.

True to Dumbledore's words, Voldemort’s attention remained away from England at all times. There were still Death Eater recruitment bases active in the country, but Harry decided to take Albus' advice and not hunt them down with the zeal of a madman.

Every moment Tom left them alone was a moment he could spend growing stronger.

Unfortunately, the world simply did not wish to make things easy for him. Though this time, it was his own fault really.

Harry had a ‘girls’ problem.

Since his unwitting tussle with Hermione Granger in Library, his attention had turned more and more towards the female population of Hogwarts. And he had to admit…he liked what he saw. Incredibly so.

Maybe the witches in this world made use of cosmetic magic far more freely, but he couldn't help feeling that the level of beauty and womanly charms in this reality was substantially higher. Hell, the girls in his own class, Daphne, Tracy…Pansy, were all an attractive set of witches, even by his standards. One random night, he realized with a start that the idea of taking Parkinson was seeming less and less like a joke everyday. Especially if she kept roaming in that mini-skirt every evening around the Common Room.

The worst thing was the fact that he knew with certainty, none of them would mind getting to know him up close and personal. And he didn’t need legilimency to know that. For Slytherins, their attention came in the form of alliance offers. While he could easily reject the males, his mind couldn't help but rethink if some of the more...enticing offers didn’t merit serious consideration after all.

Logically, he knew the attempts at seduction for what they were; a way to get closer to the True-Boy-Who-Lived. Most of them obviously held ulterior motives in their minds, which would be clear once he started returning a modicum of their attention back.

But he had a hard time caring about their motives, especially when his little Harry got involved.

Thankfully Dora was there to quench the edge of his thirst, or he was afraid what he might've ended up doing.

With everything going on in his life, he really didn’t need any complications right now. He had a feeling his will wouldn’t stay strong for long.

But whatever the future held, Harry felt assured he would be ready to tackle it. For the month end was soon upon them, and it was finally time for the Triwizard tournament.

Harry doubted it would be nearly as tame as the last one had been.

But this time, he was looking forward to it with all his heart.

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

AN: Aaand here it is! A week and a half later than promised, but more than double of the originally planned.

I also had to rewrite a couple of scenes completely. The Auror meeting, for instance. I'd written it entirely in Harry's pov, wrote about 3-4k, and ended up hating it. Then wrote Stella's pov, liked it, but got distracted by some Breaking bad shorts on YT and ended up making an entirely new character: Augustus Fringe.

Well anyway, hope you all enjoyed! Tell me what you thought about the Elemental magic. I don't know if my writing quality has dipped due to my recent inactivity, so pls lemme know if it didn't feel up to the par.

That's about it for now. See ya!