Ch 58 the birth of evil (pt.2)

Fudge was convicted of accepting bribes and gross corruption the day before Harry's birthday and sent through the Veil the next day. All the lifers in Azkaban had been cleared out; all through the Veil. The Dementors were being captured and put into Patronus Lined caverns underground.

A little bit of fear was a good thing, wasn't it?

The only thing that hadn't happened yet was that Lucius Malfoy had yet to make his vengeance known. Harry hadn't seen anything about the man in quite some time, nor had his name come out in the investigation into Fudge. Malfoy must be approaching broke with all the bribes he had to pay to keep out of a bribery investigation.

Damned purebloods.

The second of August Lucius made his plans clear. The third page of the Prophet explained, "Malfoy Gives Hundred Thousand Galleons to Hogwarts, Chairs Board of Governors; Vows to Increase Standards."

Harry smiled. Lucius Malfoy might be the best opponent Harry had gone up against in quite some time. He was smart and not afraid to bankrupt himself to achieve his goals.

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Harry arrived for his OWL year at Hogwarts completely energized. Dudley had been afraid to look in Harry's direction following their brush with the Dementors. Petunia had been even more terrified in Harry's presence once the boy explained with barely a breath how he'd foiled an assassination plot against him.

Then the people on the train had seemed impressed by what seemed to be Harry's credo: competence. More than one pureblood commended Harry on his Skeeter interview and the letter to the Prophet over the summer. Half bloods and muggleborns seemed curious about Harry and what he meant exactly. Harry had spent a long period of time unraveling things that no one ever explained to those who most needed to know them.

He won himself a lot of converts to his basic cause before he even left the train. Plus he'd had a few letters back and forth to some of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang crowd from last year.

Even better, Headmistress McGonagall announced new teachers for Defense, History of Magic, Transfiguration, and Ancient Runes at the Welcoming Feast. Harry had never heard of any of them before, but then again the Hogwarts library hadn't stocked current books in a decade. It was possible any one of these people was now quite famous.

Harry decided on a new item for his Christmas agenda: hitting the nontraditional bookstores in Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. He needed more than what the school could provide and had exhausted the few books on offense and warding he'd acquired at Flourish and Blotts.

The Headmistress announced one last thing that evening. "As many of you may know, a generous benefactor provided Hogwarts with a sizable amount of money to help refurbish and increase the library collection. As you will see, we were busy over the summer. I hope you like the first phase of the plan. Madam Pince will be happy to answer any of your questions."

Harry smiled. The Malfoy money had gone toward books…excellent.

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Harry immediately found it odd when Albus Dumbledore was strolling around Hogsmeade on the one weekend in October when Hogwarts students would be there. Even stranger, Albus actively sought out Harry for a conversation.

"I'm surprised, sir, I did say some terrible things about you in the newspaper."

"No less than I deserved. Paperwork never was my thing and I completely forgot about new books for the library."

Harry doubted that very much.

"How may I help you?"

"I just wanted to ask a question. Are you happy, Mr. Potter?"

"As happy as I could be growing up how and where I did."

A stab of pain lanced through Dumbledore's face. "I know you placed me there. I think it was a bad choice, myself. Vernon was a terror before he died…."

"How did he die?"

Harry felt the legilimency start before Harry answered. "Aunt Petunia said he was driving to a sales meeting and swerved into a concrete divider."

Dumbledore nodded. "I've never driven a car, but I am sure it is quite complex."

"I would ask you not to try legilimency again. I would hate to see you in prison for inappropriate conduct with a minor, sir."

Albus flushed a bit. He thought himself too much a master to be caught.

"You learned the Mind Arts?"

"Fascinating," Harry said, nodding. "Occlumency helps with information recall. I can keep hundreds of spells in mind when I'm doing a mock duel…."

"Perhaps one day I shall see your skill with a wand in battle…."

"Had you truly desired your students to be proficient with wands and magic, you yourself would have led a dueling club, sir. You didn't care then…and I have no idea whether you do now."

"I see," Dumbledore said.

"Would you care to really tell me why you sought me out? I'm sure it didn't have anything to do with my happiness."

"I wondered if you'd ever heard of the Headmaster's Collection?"

"Another library?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Some very rare books; other books restricted for the teachers alone to access."

Harry nodded. "I suppose you shunted off everything on wards and offensive magic there?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Of course."

"You are a bastard, Dumbledore. I hope retirement disagrees with you."

"It does."

"I finally thought about why you kept having Professor Flitwick suggest I take Divination. Your fraud of a Seer came across me in a seventh floor hallway and went into a trance. I suppose you kept me tucked away on Privet Drive until you needed me to 'vanquish' someone for you?"

Albus went very pale.

"You didn't think she could speak the words again? They weren't necessarily for your ears in the first place…. She only spoke them to you because you and the spy were listening in…."

"How do you know that?"

"I know a lot more than you expect, sir. Have a nice day. I hope you won't have to loiter around Hogsmeade the next time you want to drop hints."

The utterly confused Dumbledore walked slowly away from the scene of their quiet confrontation.

Harry wandered off to see if the used bookstore in town had anything worth knowing. He managed to find only three volumes of interest. A book on defensive runic warding (the strongest and longest lasting sort), on the use of transfiguration and conjuration in dueling, and a third treatise on the nature of wands and how to customize them.

Harry, of course, continued to use a piece of wood, rather than a wand, but he did want to understand the theories behind wands better…if only to be able to thwart them the easier.

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Harry, like all other fifth, sixth, and seventh years in Ravenclaw, got his own room to ensure excellent results on OWLs and NEWTs. He used the privacy to its utmost.

He peered out the window and saw the Slytherins practicing Quidditch. Harry used his wandless abilities – which had grown stronger than any of his contemporaries' wanded magic – to snap off several twigs in Draco Malfoy's broom. He liked the plan he was working on now.

Lucius would of course hate it, once he saw the results.

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The first game of the Quidditch season was between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Slytherin lost when Dennis Creevey, a tiny young wizard, caught the snitch before Draco Malfoy did.

Harry watched the game from Ravenclaw Tower. Just when Draco was over four of his fellow team members, nine critical bristles from his broom cracked and fell away.

Draco plummeted to the ground and landed on top of the team's Keeper, one Chaser, and the two reserve Beaters.

Judging by how Draco fell, the pureblood would never ride a broom again, but he might perhaps one day relearn to walk.

Lucius screamed in panic and the blonde woman next to Harry's opponent burst into tears and began to run to the field. The three of them on the field, plus the school's healer and other teachers trying to help, made for a compelling scene.

Harry had just begun a war Lucius didn't know he would lose. Harry cared about little. Malfoy, however, cared about his family and especially the good reputation of his family. Harry could attack purebloods for eons by attacking at their weaker points: their children, their wives, their good names, their wealth, their supposedly important family history.

Malfoy might still do something interesting, but it was relatively simple to defeat an opponent once one understood their weaknesses.

Lucius attacked through proxies – like his money or his political influence – so Harry wouldn't yet attack Lucius directly or permanently. But…if Lucius changed the rules, so would Harry.

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The new Minister of Magic came to Hogwarts to see what was going on (she certainly didn't want to be accused of having her head in the sand, like Fudge did). Two interesting faces were in the group accompanying the Minister, the semi-disgraced head of medical administration, Bartemius Crouch, and his assistant who he called Weatherby.

Harry had picked up an interesting mental technique from a book he'd owl ordered from one of the used bookstores in Knockturn Alley: passive scanning. It was something akin to legilimency, but less aggressive and far harder to detect. Instead of one getting to pick what one saw, one took a look into the things another was most concerned about in the moment.

Bones passed the scan – she had no thoughts floating around of her taking bribes or anything else illegal. Several others passed…until Harry arrived on Crouch. The man was thinking about the Imperius Curse – about needing to recast it on his son, a son who supposedly died in Azkaban.

Interesting.

Everyone else passed until Harry got to the one called Weatherby, the former Head Boy from Gryffindor. He was one twisted puppy upstairs. He had a penchant for abducting muggle women and ensuring they remembered nothing afterwards. The boy clearly had inadequacy issues.

Harry kept from retching at some of the things he'd seen in Weasley's head and watched the group move through their investigation. One person had been released from the hospital immediately. Draco and three others were still in hospital, all of them with severe spine damage.

Bones pushed forward to the front of the group to look at the broom Draco had been riding. "My Merlin, I haven't been on a broom since I got bumped into management, but this thing is a mess. Bristles every which way. I can see forty or fifty that look like they want to break. This is a relatively new broom, should last twenty years. Has the child even maintained it once – or replaced any bristles?"

The Ministry's broom experts stepped forward and confirmed Bones' opinion. The broom was obviously in a state of terrible repair.

The whole thing was a terrible accident as the result of inept maintenance of a broom.

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Harry paid Malfoy and the other three a visit in the infirmary a day later. He chatted with each of them. He took a bit longer with Malfoy than the others. He wormed his way through the boy's rather transparent mind and found a wealth of interesting material, much of it incriminating to the Malfoy family.

"Heal up, Malfoy, I need a good challenge for the best grade in Potions, you know…."

"You wish, Potter. I'm twice the brewer you are." Draco recognized a friendly taunt when he heard it.

"Get your carcass back in class and prove yourself." Harry smiled and left. Too bad the young Malfoy was a moron. He couldn't recognize a true threat when he saw it.

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Bones was back a week after the initial investigation. She enjoyed lunch in the Great Hall. Harry stared at the woman and wondered how he could use her in discrediting Malfoy. The information Harry had discovered from Draco Malfoy revealed his father to be much worse than Harry had suspected.

That diary in Harry's second year had originated with Malfoy. Malfoy had led the attacks at the Quidditch World Cup almost two years earlier. Malfoy wasn't evil in a repenting sort of way; he was still doing things to seek out his fallen leader. Malfoy had to go.

An anonymous letter?

A whisper campaign?

A tipster walking into the Ministry?

Malfoy Manor burning down and his cache of Dark artifacts getting found afterwards?

Or…perhaps it was best that Malfoy brought himself down without any help from Bones.

Harry smiled and returned to his potatoes.

Malfoy came to Hogwarts often with his son still in the infirmary. A touch of compulsion and Harry would just see what could happen.

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Lucius Malfoy had had a terrible day. His heir was still hospitalized and was still unable to walk. Narcissa had been confirmed as being unable to bear more children. The Malfoy line would have a damaged head after Lucius died.

Such a disgrace had never before occurred. The power of the Malfoy line was broken – because of a poorly maintained broom. Draco knew better than that. Lucius would remind the boy with a few painful curses just how important seemingly minor details were.

But when he returned at lunch time to inform Draco he was being moved to more competent Healers at St. Mungo's, Lucius felt the sudden, blinding fear that Aurors were about to raid the Manor. He needed to clear out the secret cache and dispose of everything…now.

He stalked out of Hogwarts and apparated back home. He summoned a featherlight satchel and undid the series of wards protecting a section of his drawing room floor. He went down the stone steps into the room and began summoning each item. (He knew better than to touch them with his own hands.) A full hour later, Lucius' magic was exhausted and the bag full.

He laid down in a chair and took a brief nap. When the twilight crept through the window, Lucius reawoke and apparated with the bag to Knockturn Alley. Lucius walked into Borgin & Burkes and saw an odd man behind the counter.

"May I help you?" the man asked.

"I would speak with your boss."

"You mean my cousin? He's in St. Mungo's after an accident. I am minding the store for a week."

"I guess I will return in a week."

"Fair enough, good sir. May I tell him who called for him?"

"Lucius Malfoy."

"I do have a letter for you, Mr. Malfoy, if you'll give me a moment."

Lucius wavered for a moment. He didn't want to be here, not with this stranger in a position of power. Old Burke was part of the old crowd, but who knew about this other decrepit looking man.

Malfoy accepted and read the letter. "Trust my cousin Treadwell as you would me, My friend Lucius." The handwriting was correct. The message was correct. Even the orange ink was correct for a message like this.

"Mister…."

"Burke, like my cousin."

"Mister Burke, I would like to place this bag in a room Burke created for me. Do you know how to access it?"

"He left me a note. He wanted you to access the space yourself, rather than letting another in on the secret."

Lucius nodded. That much, at least, was a sound idea.

Lucius walked past the odd caretaker of the store. He went to one section of the wall and tapped away at some gray, rotting boards. It was a long, specific sequence. Two dozen taps later, the stairs appeared leading to the basement. Lucius leapt on them and made his way down. The stairs would not last for long, not with the password old Burke had given Lucius.

Lucius moved quickly through the cramped basement. A barely visible path through all the stacks of books and boxes of banned objects allowed Lucius to pass toward his secret spot in the basement, the place where he hid the items he wasn't quite ready to part with.

Burke allowed him this little area as he knew that sooner or later Lucius would sell those items to him. A few of them Burke already had sold just as soon as he got his hands on them.

Lucius arrived at the cracked spot of foundation that marked his hiding place. He began casting the seven spells that would create an opening for Lucius to access the secure space. Even though he was alone, Lucius used only nonverbal spells as he opened the space.

He laid the bag in the hidden room, along with a few other artifacts Lucius hadn't yet sold, and resealed the space. It took him ten more minutes to retrace his steps before he emerged out his basement.

As he hit the top step, he felt the stunner impact into his body. Lucius collapsed against the stairwell. He remained there when the passage resealed itself, cutting Lucius in half. The Aurors waiting for Malfoy hadn't expected that and didn't know how to efficiently get the passageway reopened.

Malfoy died seconds later of massive blood loss.

Amelia Bones came to the scene less than an hour later. This…this was monstrous. Amelia had ordered an operation on Borgin & Burke's to clean up the Dark Arts trade out of Knockturn. She hadn't wanted anyone to die.

Damn, it had to be Malfoy, too. The evidence was in the basement below, but luckily they had the entire room saturated in listening charms and scrying permissions.

"We're not going to get anything else out of this operation now that Malfoy's dead. Roll up everyone implicated. Bring in the Ministry cursebreakers and recover the evidence."

In a few weeks, Amelia would be presiding over forty three sets of trials related to the possession and sale of Dark Arts paraphernalia. And an inquest into one death. Why did Auror Tonks have to stun Malfoy? Why did that staircase have to seal itself up so quickly?

Amelia supervised the crime scene. This was quite a few levels below the things she should be doing as Minister, but her background in law enforcement drove her to be curious…and to be sure that things started going the right way for once.

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Harry had pushed forward with his plans even after Malfoy died. He'd wanted the man in prison for a few years, not killed…worthy adversaries should be given second chances, after all.

Harry let Terribeth plan their annual pranks on the entire school. This time, instead of just the fun, Harry had a good reason for the prank. He needed time to break into the Headmistress' office and copy the Headmaster's Collection.

This time Terribeth the House Elf doused the green beans with the mildest prank; the potatoes with the Ever-Changing Pastille; and the meat pasties with the Virulent Vomiting Vinaigrette. Harry had spent a good deal of time examining the Weasley twins' failures and salvaged these three concepts for a very special prank.

Harry sat down to dinner and immediately helped himself to the green beans and a few of the other dishes that hadn't been spiked. He ate a few beans just as he saw others beginning to show signs of their problems. Time delayed powders are everything in the pranking business.

Harry began to sing loudly one moment and then reciting poetry the next. As very few children ate vegetables and most ate potatoes, most everyone in the room was either puking or finding that their arms changed into tentacles one moment, feathered wings the next, and then became enlarged candy canes after that.

The Headmistress couldn't stand up to give instructions to anyone as the meat pasties were among her favorite dishes. The school nurse was vomiting and had a table leg instead of a hand as well.

In the chaos, Harry along with a few others who weren't vomiting snuck out of the room. Once gone, Harry sucked down the antidote and stopped singing, reciting poetry, reading out grocery lists, and reciting lists of muggle phone books he'd never seen. Over all, it was a clever prank.

Harry Disillusioned himself and snuck through the staircases until he arrived at the gargoyle guardian. Instead of speaking a password, Harry threw a confundus jinx at the beastly thing. It then thought it heard the password.

Harry snuck up and looked around at the room. With no Dumbledore, there was no phoenix to deal with. McGonagall wasn't known for having a familiar, was she?

He moved silently through the room and noted there were no books lining the walls. They were elsewhere.

Harry began casting the magic analysis spells he'd used in his second year to find the Chamber of Secrets. Eventually, he discovered a few secret spaces in the room. One nook held a pensieve, empty of anything at all. Another nook contained empty shelves. Finally, a third bookcase popped open slightly and revealed an enormous stack of dusty books inside.

Harry walked inside, pulled out a featherlight bag, and began casting the duplication spells on everything of interest. His collection of books on warding tripled. He got three more shelves worth of books on dueling and offensive magics.

There was one massive volume on Divination…which was so out of place in this particular collection that Harry decided to copy it.

The other volumes Harry copied and took with him spanned the realms of Runes, Rituals, History, Finance, Enchanting, Politics, and many other disciplines unrepresented in the Hogwarts library.

He snuck out long before Minerva McGonagall even thought about returning to her office for the evening. She was as sick as she'd ever felt, including for the births of her three children.

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Harry decided he needed more than his own resources in order to achieve all his objectives; he needed eyes and ears in other walks of life, other countries.

He wrote letters to all his acquaintances from Hogwarts and those he met from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. He proposed a meeting a few days after Christmas to see what they could do to reduce the influence of those who ruled only through lineage, those who were utterly without redeeming merit.

He received a surprising number of acceptance letters. Harry then wrote to reserve a room at the Three Broomsticks, the largest they had, for his meeting.

The more Harry thought about it, the more he knew there would be people who would want to help.

The plan he'd sketched out in the letter was simple:

-Identify the worst offenders, those completely unsuited for their public roles

-Research proof of their incompetence

-Public humiliation, try to get public opinion to swing against these people

-Try to sway more people to the cause of rewarding only merit; destroy the blood cults, the crony cults, the corruption cults, and the other inefficient models in play

It wasn't Harry's true plan, but it was as much as he would openly admit to at this point in his life.

Still, it was a worthy first public step. Getting rid of those who hide behind their heritage – or the people they know – or their ability to ladle out bribes was a useful thing…necessary.

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The day before Christmas, while Harry was reading through yet another thick book on warding, he received an unexpected letter from his Aunt Petunia. Apparently his cousin Dudley had died in a boxing accident at school, the oddly named one that 'Uncle' Vernon had gone to as well.

Petunia didn't outright state it in her few words, but she blamed Harry for the death.

Harry was honestly surprised at this, as he hadn't even thought of Dudley since the summer.

Petunia did make it clear that the house in Little Whinging would be sold long before Harry's second term ended and she would be changing her name. She wrote that she never expected to see or hear from Harry again.

Harry thought that part of her letter was spot on. Harry would curse his Aunt the next time he came across her – with a truth compulsion most likely. Let the bitter shrew deal with the world if she was always forced to spew her venomous thoughts for public consumption.

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Harry used his version of the Marauder's Map to sneak into Hogsmeade for his meeting. All the Hogwarts types he'd invited had been able to floo in from their homes over the break; Harry alone of the group had remained at Hogwarts.

The room on the third floor was surprisingly full, even more than Harry had expected. A few people offered hurried explanations of the last minute additions. Harry just nodded. He then cast a variety of wards over the room to ensure their privacy.

"Thank you, everyone, for taking a bit of time during your break to meet. As I wrote to many of you, I want to start a new campaign to bring excellence back to our public spheres, our schools, our businesses, our governments…."

The meeting lasted four hours, seven pitchers of butterbeer, and three heaping platters of sandwiches. The list compiled – along with hints of wrongdoing and bits of evidentiary proof – was enormous.

The British side of the equation was the most well documented: seven Ministry department heads, nineteen Wizengamot members, four journalists, twenty-two business owners (including the owners of six Quidditch teams).

On the French side, only the Minister and eight of his undersecretaries stood out. In Germany, most of the list was composed of Rotgat members, their version of a wizarding parliament, plus four teachers at Durmstrang.

A few other countries had some notable entries.

"Anyone have a favorite place to begin?" Harry asked.

No one had particularly strong opinions.

Harry smiled. "Well, let's start with the partially disgraced Crouch. I have it under good authority he's particularly gifted with the Imperius Curse…"

Hermione Granger laughed. "The former head of Magical Law Enforcement is gifted at an Unforgivable?"

Harry shrugged. "I have my sources. Impeccable in this case."

The rest of the group agreed to Harry's suggestion. The rest of the names got passed around and divided up amongst the group for further research.

It was dark when the last person left the room. Harry cracked open a window, transformed into a crow, and flew back to Hogwarts. Honeydukes would have closed hours ago. Harry didn't fancy breaking into a store where just anyone could spot him doing it – not when he could just as easily fly back.

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Toppling Barty Crouch had been a simple matter.

The man was hiding an escaped Azkaban prisoner no one expected was still alive. People could quickly discover that fact if just a few unusual things happened in the right sequence.

On a Hogsmeade weekend, Harry peered into the mind of the leading greengrocer in town and discovered how much food Barty Crouch's elf purchased in a given week, far more than was needed to feed an old man and an elf. He also verified that the Crouch elf purchased Quidditch magazines and posters on a fairly regular basis.

Harry thusly compelled a concerned Hogsmeade citizen to write to the DMLE about his suspicions regarding Crouch. The man had obviously taken in a young boy for some nefarious purpose: the sales records proved that Barty was caring for more than himself.

A very skeptical low level Auror secured a warrant when Crouch was at work and investigated. What he found was a man under an Invisibility Cloak attended to by an elf – a supposedly dead man who still breathed and ate and slept.

The newspapers had had a field day. Barty Crouch, suspected pedophile, had turned out to be harboring his Death Eater son…by using the Imperius Curse. Both Crouch's would presently be making their ways to cells on the island prison.

Harry set down the fourth Daily Prophet to report on the matter. The Wizengamot had rushed through a trial because of the embarrassment involved. Crouch had been the Director of Magical Law Enforcement during the first Voldemort war – and he had been using Unforgivable Curses for more than a decade now.

The paper reported the trial lasted less than an hour.

Harry set down the newspaper and turned his mind to Crouch's minion…Weatherbee. Old Percy Weasley had been ridiculous as Head Boy, so Harry took a bit of pleasure as he contemplated what he might do to the boy.

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Harry set down his quill as he looked over the letter to Sirius. He reread the first paragraph silently.

I was wondering if I might stay with you this summer. My aunt Petunia sent me a no-nonsense letter stating she had sold her house and would be disappearing. She was never much of an Aunt so I'm not surprised in the slightest. I would like to get to know you better, perhaps learn more about my parents.

Harry had never written with more seriousness. He could find himself half a dozen more convenient situations in the world, but he really did want to get to know his godfather.

Harry couldn't stop smiling at the little hints and clues he threw in the letter.

I was surprised to see Mr. Crouch and Percy Weasley arrested. I read somewhere that you've taken up the Black family seat on the Wizengamot. I suppose it might be somewhat entertaining to sit in judgment of a man who ensured you never received a trial. Perhaps you'll tell me about it this summer.

It was just right. It should be enough to make Sirius laugh. He'd send it out tomorrow.

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Sitting the OWLs after five years of classes was much simpler than everyone had led Harry to believe.

His Charms examination was the simplest thing: the practical was only seven spells Harry knew by heart. A cleansing spell; an animation spell from third year; three jinxes used in low level dueling; the spell to set up a canvas for magical portraiture; and the Granholtz Charm, one of several charms used to magically expand the size of a room.

Harry showed the men and women of the Examination Bureau things they'd never seen before when he sat his Transfiguration examination. The chairs he transfigured into a gilded carriage earned gasps from everyone who saw them.

His Defense examination was barely a test at all. With the level of instruction so poor in this school, someone knowing the first year's book of defense lessons would earn a high pass. The official practical exam involved hinkypunks, boggarts, the countercurses to six jinxes and hexes (no curses), and a cursed door handle to get past. His work on the Patronus Line awed everyone in the room as did his solution to the cursed door handle (a golden colored ward that negated the modest curse embedded in the metal).

The rest were ridiculous. How could anyone find them challenging? The Potions exam only called for brewing a third year and a fourth year potion. The Care of Magical Creatures had only three beasts for the practical, one of which was a niffler. Couldn't they have just told everyone to tend to some flobberworms and handed out Outstanding marks to anyone who showed up?

The Runes exam had a few tricky or potentially deceptive passages, but Harry recognized one of them as a direct quotation from a temple in Crete they'd briefly studied in class. He knew, therefore, what that one at least was supposed to say.

He hid some of his knowledge of arithmancy…but the test wouldn't have stumped a particularly stupid troll.

They didn't offer OWLs in Dueling or Warding or any of the more challenging magical disciplines. Those would be real tests to take….

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Harry began another letter to his informal network of supporters the day before his fifth year at Hogwarts ended.

It's not enough to expose the figureheads as incompetent and corrupt if we do nothing to change the structure of power. All the European wizarding governments are based on hereditary power which is anathema to empower the meritorious. Merit and democracy can coexist, but merit and aristocracy are impossible to blend. I, for one, continue to be surprised that the entire Wizengamot in Britain hasn't fallen to pieces under the collective incompetence of its members. Surely any other form of representative government would be preferable. Think on it for our next meeting during the summer.

He wanted to set the people who were of like mind to a big, almost insoluble problem. He'd try to solve it from multiple angles – the legal ones in public, the illegal ones more discretely.

He sent the letter out and then snuck away that afternoon. He needed to visit the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. He had a plan in mind.

His mind turned over that strange letter he'd gotten back from Sirius a month back. Sirius had, of course, been delighted to have Harry spend the summer with him, but noted how insistent that Dumbledore had been that Harry return to live with his aunt. Sirius had even attempted to explain about Petunia's disappearance, but Dumbledore didn't care.

Even away from Hogwarts, old Albus was still a thorn in Harry's side. (And why was Sirius talking with Dumbledore at all?)

Harry decided he would have to do something about Dumbledore. He cleared his mind, however, when he entered the Chamber of Secrets. He needed a clear mind when he dealt with a clever, deadly magical creature. He had a need for a quarter liter of basilisk venom and this was the only way to get it.

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Sirius had one of the best and craziest ideas Harry had ever heard of: participating in a dueling tournament in Hogsmeade.

Years and years of Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts…for what? Harry had never had a proper duel in all his time at Hogwarts. When Sirius found out he literally insisted Harry go up and participate in the one in Hogsmeade tomorrow.

Not watch…participate.

Harry wasn't big on making a fool of himself, but he gave into Sirius' entreaties after twenty minutes. The man was persistent and annoying. It turned out to be a great idea.

The tournament began the next morning with a match between Sirius and an older man who seemed to know what he was doing. Since getting out of Azkaban, Sirius had evidently taken up dueling as a hobby…so as never to be left standing like a fool in front of a weak wizard like Peter Pettigrew.

Harry laughed when a few of Sirius' spell choices did unusual things to his opponent. He blended stunners and disarming spells with other options like transfiguring the man's shoes into lead or charming the man's dour brown robes to fly into his face and attack him.

Sirius downed his opponent. Harry got to watch a few more duels before his first round.

He took the stage against a forty year old man. Both bowed and took up the position. Harry's opponent began with a stunner. Harry, like some of the better duelists he'd observed, stepped to the side and cast a jelly-legs jinx. The man shielded rather than step away from the spell. Harry smiled and began working his way through the spells he'd only ever cast for academic reasons.

Seven spells later Harry emerged the victor of the round. His opponent had a strong shield, but Harry was a much stronger, if inexperienced, wizard. Harry threw four spells to crack the shield, another to confuse the wizard, and a final two to either stun the man or disarm him. He fell to the mat stunned and without a wand.

People relied too much on magical shielding, Harry realized. He decided to examine the other duelists to see how others used such spells.

Sirius made it through his second round, although it was a much closer match. Sirius had to use many fewer of his comic spells.

Harry had a tougher second round, as well. This opponent shielded and dodged. His only problem was that he used complicated spells with long, polysyllabic incantations. Harry went with using short, effective spells to win.

Sirius barely won his third duel, while Harry lost his. His third round opponent was magnificent: he used potentially lethal spells without hesitation; he cast faster than anyone Harry had ever seen; he didn't even need to raise a shield as he was always moved from the place where Harry sent any problematic spells. The man let a few testing spells, annoyances like itching hexes and such, impact with his body so he could avoid stunners and wand burning spells.

The man had a style. It was beyond effective. He used nine languages so he could cast his spells with a minimum of syllables. The stunner in Rumanian was barely a grunt. Harry congratulated the man and began to look for styles among the other duelists in the tournament.

Sirius lost in the fourth round to another duelist with an impeccable style. The man stuck to four spells…and Harry had never seen anyone cast those four spells with more power or ease.

The man who beat Harry lost in the sixth round. The two duelists in the seventh, and final, round were power casters…nearly bludgeoning their opponents with odd and almost cruel spell choices. None of the spells were Unforgivable, but a Bone Shattering Curse won the tournament for a wizard from Bruges.

Harry was entranced. He'd never seen anything so…intense in his life. Power. Knowledge. Pure Magic. All played out in a game that either side could win…or lose. Harry Potter was hooked.

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When his sixth year began, Harry prevailed on the new Defense teacher, plus Professor Flitwick, to start a Dueling Club. Prewett Ferguson actually had some legitimate qualifications to teach Defense, but his skills as a duelist were more academic than practical.

Harry holed up in the library again to study dueling methods and styles. He had seen a dozen different true styles at the tournament…and all of them could be countered. Most of the finalists going back in the Dueling Annals had won their titles because of lucky shots – or because they violated their chosen styles.

Harry turned from dueling books, which he deemed as common knowledge, and went in search of more 'specialized' bits of magic. Magical mining, masonry spells, trade spells for building homes…and dozens of other very dusty tomes.

Harry started working on an anti-style, something that was about as unpredictable as was possible.

When the first meeting of the dueling club took place, Harry had his plan ready. He tore through the others. He used nothing lethal…nor did he use anything anyone in the room had ever heard of, including Flitwick, Hermione, and everyone in Ravenclaw. He never repeated a spell in his three rounds of duels. He never shielded.

Flitwick pulled Harry aside a few days later and asked about his style. Harry smiled.

"It isn't a style, Professor."

"I'd certainly call it a style. I didn't understand anything you said."

"Obscurity isn't what I was going for, sir."

The tiny Charms instructor laughed. "Could have fooled me."

"It was meant to be unpredictable."

"It was. It really was."

At the next week's meeting, the Defense Professor decided he would do some exhibition duels. Prewett Ferguson and Flitwick dueled. Then Prewett called Harry to the platform.

The talk of the school the next day was how Harry Potter had felled the Defense Professor with two spells, a sickly green spell for removing dental plaque (which caused the man to dive to the floor even though he consciously knew it wasn't the Killing Curse) and a clothes cleansing charm that acted like heavy duty starch had seeped through every fiber of his robes. The man was bound tighter than if Harry had used Petrificus Totalus. Harry plucked the man's wand without any difficulty.

The rumors didn't die down for days. Harry had a few new competitors for unusual volumes in the library, too.

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Harry's sixth year was probably his calmest and most enjoyable…until he received a rather odd letter from one of his circle. The Durmstrang graduate overheard an odd little story from Albania. There was a town afflicted by a strange disease. People would act oddly for a few months or so and then die, one squib had held out for eight months, but the Muggles there succumbed quickly.

Harry's mind connected the place with where Quirrel had said he'd gone vampire hunting…had Voldemort retreated there and started using the local humans and squibs as possession fodder? After years of pondering the matter, Harry had decided that Quirrel was likely the one who had attempted to kill Harry, not Snape. No matter, though, they were both horrible teachers.

It took Harry almost two weeks of letter writing to find an appropriate resource to investigate the rumors out of Albania.

Thus a small band of mercenaries took an exorcist into Albania in November. Harry's instructions were clear: "do not banish the spirit." They were only to capture and imprison the thing. If it was Voldemort, it was safer that way. Obviously killing him was problematic. He didn't die the regular way…who knew why?

Harry wanted a life without unnecessary complications. Any rumors of Voldemort needed to be dealt with.

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At Christmastime, Harry read about the successful use of the venom he'd harvested from the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets.

According to the Daily Prophet, a rash of political killings ended in France two days earlier. French Aurors learned of a secret lovenest owned by their Minister of Magic…a lovenest where just under a quarter liter of basilisk venom was sitting on a hall table as plain as day.

It matched exactly to the venom blended with the ink on the letters used to kill seven mediocre politicians who were once among the Minister's party.

The Minister's denials rang hollow. He testified under truth serum that he hadn't killed anyone and had no idea where the venom came from…but the Aurors decided the man had purchased a supply of veritaserum antidote.

Harry smiled. Barty Crouch's memories were still useful. The vile man had known about the French Minister's lovenest…and had used that knowledge a few times to blackmail the man into something or signing an agreement or exchanging some restricted Ministry secret.

Harry's circle of friends had had a bit of success exposing idiocy and corruption through more mainstream methods. The cumulative effect was becoming noticeable. Harry wasn't happy yet…but it was a start.

He had a team after Voldemort's spirit…and an incompetent in prison in France…and a witchhunt tearing through the Wizengamot for the person who'd been leaking details of secret meetings…. Was anything secret when the members didn't all learn Occlumency – and weren't subjecting each other to Unbreakable Vows?

Harry was raining terror down on incompetents from afar, without notice or much risk of detection. It was perfect.

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The package from the exorcist finally arrived in April. The team had been hunting in Albania for nearly six months…but the prize was worth it.

When he touched it, Harry felt reminded of the diary he'd found in his second year, the one that had controlled that little red headed girl. Interesting.

Harry decided that this interesting bottle and the diary still in the Chamber of Secrets should become his next major research project. Well…a complement to his current project.

Since exhausting the library of its more unusual spellbooks to improve his dueling skills (odd uses of healing spells for dueling had been his last, and still yet untested, discovery), Harry had turned to trying to amass an understanding of the things he did not know…and where he might possibly go to learn them.

One book in particular discussed a variety of wizarding legends. Egyptians and the study of immortality took up a chapter; Babylon and the study of magical construction another; Greek city states and a dozen specialties, including divination and the crossing of animal breeds; the Romans and the arts of assassination and enthrallment filled four chapters (one alone on the Spartan forms of war magic); the Chinese and the development of potions through local flora and fauna; the native Americans and the use of rituals and totems to shape power; the rise of the wand and runic systems in Britain; the rise of enchantments and runes in Scandinavia.

Harry wondered if a journey or quest like this was how Tom Riddle molded himself into Voldemort. Der Bildung: the building of a young man.

Harry conjured up a thin journal just for keeping track of his current research projects. He'd outlined a dozen different places he needed to visit…and magics he needed to learn. The oddities surrounding Voldemort and the journal were yet another item on a growing list.

The things Harry planned to do before he made his full push into the world…still from behind the shadows.

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The summer after Harry's sixth year began with him sitting in his room at Grimmauld Place and drafting a letter to his friends.

The results from this year's plans did not go well. It seems our initial successes with letter writing cannot be duplicated over the longer term. For example, we've had evidence published in Britain about three mid-level British Ministry officials who have run an influence ring. All three are still in power; none are under official investigation. Knowing the truth and acting on the truth are not in any way related to illogical wizards in this country.

What tactics might we develop to pressure the responses we want? Think on this for the coming meeting in Paris.

Harry had a list of three British Ministry workers he wanted gone, along with two corrupt reporters and a handful of disgusting Wizengamot members, the worst of the festering pile.

Legal means, humiliation, and the rest no longer worked: vermin like these people enjoyed their mediocrity and their corruption. Harry knew how to deal with vermin, didn't he?

Ambushing with words wasn't enough, just like it hadn't been enough to deal with the French Minister of Magic. Stronger measures; sterner stuff.

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Harry walked out the front door of Grimmauld Place a few days later after all his preparations were finished.

He knew the people were guilty – unlike the French Minister of Magic, who was framed for the specific crimes he was arrested for, but not his more general incompetence and unsuitability for high office – so he just had to make it appear to everyone else that they were guilty. He'd had the misfortune to peer into the mind of one of the Ministry officials during his fifth year at Hogwarts…the people kept coming and going like mad. The whole sordid plan was on display in her mind for anyone who cared to peer inside.

Harry walked two miles to a more run down section of the outer ring of London. It only took a few minutes to find an adequate deserted building for his purposes.

From the memories he'd glimpsed, Harry had recreated many of the lists of corrupt acts that existed in reality only in people's minds. Harry had written them down in just slightly opaqued ways, referring not to the bills passed through the Wizengamot by bribery, but by the supporter and his 'donations' and the dates of the transactions. Even a moron Auror would be able to piece it back together – what with all the bits of paper detailing this or that payment to this or that reporter or government official critical in bringing out a report demanding such and such a law.

Harry littered the building with crumpled legislative drafts and cut out stories from the Prophet – all the things bought and paid for in this room. He left three dozen empty flagons of Forgetting Potion…the perfect explanation as to why none of those soon to be tried would remember this place. Harry decided to frame up Veneta Edgecombe, the mother of a rather annoying and craven Ravenclaw who'd just graduated.

Harry stepped away two hours later after admiring the beautiful set he'd created for this little drama. Every word of what he'd left in there was true, even if the people involved were far smarter than to actually set up a meeting area like this one. But, wizards were stupid. Harry's creation would force all of them to believe.

Late that night, a rented owl dropped a letter to the offices of the Daily Prophet, specifically the night editor. A very brief suggestion named the street and building number a reporter should visit…and a warning not to inform the Aurors, as the Head Auror was implicated by the evidence there. Pius Thicknesse had been a bad boy….

The reporter went out; the story made the cover and two inside pages. All the people named were in jail within three days.

Dumbledore, with all the time in the world, now began to wonder about how such a complex network was wrapped up so easily.

He quickly determined that the evidence of corruption was compelling, but that hidey hole was too convenient. No one skilled enough to survive a dozen years running a high risk operation would be that stupid.

Dumbledore decided to do a bit more checking.

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Harry's final dueling tournament of the summer was eight days before school resumed. He'd competed six times over the summer months and finished as high as third place, not bad at all for someone who wasn't even out of Hogwarts. Three duelists, one man and two women, were nearly impossible for Harry to beat. Decades of experience with a wand were still good for something, after all.

Harry arrived at the outdoor tournament near Queerditch Marsh. He walked over to the administration tent and saw something very interesting: Dumbledore was refereeing. He was snooping around a few of Harry's plots; he was the one who had tried to get Harry in danger with the TriWizard Tournament; he was the one who had shipped Harry off to Vernon and Petunia Dursley.

Dumbledore needed a bit of a reward, didn't he?

Luckily the tournament lasted two days…and Dumbledore would be judging tomorrow as well. Harry would have a few moments to prepare something this evening, something very special.

Harry's mind turned through all the lethal options he had available.

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The final day of the tournament was among the more beautiful days Dumbledore could remember. He'd enjoyed the sun. He'd seen Harry Potter duel…frighteningly brilliant young man, using his eyes and his mind rather than just some dark grimoire of arcane spells to win. Who knew one could win a duel with a transfigured mop and a pan scrubbing spell?

Dumbledore sat near the stage with two other judges waiting for the final round. Harry had made it all the way to the end to battle it out with a duelist from Wizarding Monaco.

Dumbledore had accepted the role of a dueling judge to fill up his days a bit and his coin purse, too. It didn't hurt that he'd be able to keep an eye on Harry Potter from time to time, as well. The boy had a destiny to fulfill…who knew when, but he still had Voldemort to vanquish, didn't he?

Harry mounted the stage and looked a young warlord of old, a wizard ready to commence combat and succeed. He really was a beautiful young man. His opponent was a grizzled old man of forty summers, who looked closer to ninety. Too many rituals; too many messy duels and wars.

The duel began. Harry led with the oddest yellow-colored spell Dumbledore had ever seen. The Monacan started with a severing charm, a spell that pushed the limits of what was allowable in this particular format.

The yellow spell seemed on dead center to collide with the Monacan before it veered to the side. Dumbledore blinked twice. That was…beyond strange. Did the Monacan possess a nonverbal spell to divert curses? Or was it something else?

Harry frowned for a moment before he sent another spell, purple and writhing with energy…another spell Dumbledore didn't recognize. It, too, diverted at the last second. Harry's frown deepened into a scowl. The Monacan wasn't dodging or shielding. Something or some spell was protecting him. Dumbledore looked at the other judges. They seemed puzzled as well.

Harry took off the gloves for his third spell. It was a combination spell – definitely not the kind of thing taught at Hogwarts. Harry simultaneously conjured seven wooden stakes and banished them at his opponent. Since they were solids, and not magic, whatever spell of device the Monacan was using failed. The man dove to the mat, but two of the stakes grazed him.

Harry sent four spells barreling at the man. His device – for it surely wasn't a spell – diverted two of them, but the worst two of the four spells hit the man. A third arm grew from the man's chest and grabbed for the Monacan's wand. The fourth spell caused the man's eyebrows to begin growing with an alarming speed. Soon the man was temporarily blinded.

Harry continued flinging spells. The attempted cheating angered the beautiful young man. He certainly knew some odd curses, didn't he?

The match ended there, with Harry Potter as the victor. He had just qualified for the World Dueling Competition in November. Dumbledore wondered if Harry would accept the invitation to Hong Kong.

Dumbledore and the other judges stood up and waited for Harry to come accept his reward. Instead the young man walked to his fallen opponent and ripped open the man's sleeves. The Monacan had an odd device up his left sleeve. It was long, stretching all the way to the man's shoulder.

"This is how he cheated," Harry said. "I will be taking it for study as the victor of this duel." He then reached down and plucked the unconscious Monacan's wand from his loose hand. Harry snapped the thing with a sour expression on his face. "It's the lowest level of punishment for cheating in a formal duel. I am satisfied."

Dumbledore beamed. Harry did have some mercy in his body. The last time they'd spoken, Harry had seemed rather obdurate. Perhaps he was growing up…and growing more morally flexible, mercy taking the place of rigid idealism.

Dumbledore retired after the ceremony to the judge's tent. He had a hankering for cool chocolate. He snapped his fingers. "Elf, bring me a hot chocolate and a cup of ice cubes."

"Right away, sir."

The elf promptly returned and Dumbledore began dumping the concoction into a third glass he produced from his robes. The glass was charmed to detect magical poisons of every sort; Dumbledore did still have enemies and he felt a lot less safe since he'd been forced from Hogwarts.

The glass showed no warnings, so Dumbledore began to enjoy his favorite beverage. He had a sweet tooth a kilometer wide and twice as long. Lemon drops, cool chocolate, and every sort of Muggle candy…delicious.

He pondered over the Harry Potter he'd been watching. The boy had undeniable power; he had brains, too, far too sharp. Dumbledore wondered what Potter might get up to in the coming years. Something for the Light, hopefully….

He continued sipping on the hot cocoa and wondered if the caffeine was finally getting to him. His heart was beginning to race.

Suddenly, Dumbledore keeled over, his cup clattering to the ground. The great old wizard was dead.

When the magical autopsy was performed it seemed that Dumbledore had been abusing the Elixir of Life – from a Sorcerer's Stone, so Dumbledore must have made one or stolen Flamel's, the verdict said – along with a plant called foxglove. Few recognized that the Muggles had been using this herb, renamed as digitalis, for quite some time to control heart conditions.

But Harry knew.

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October snuck up on Harry in his final year at Hogwarts. Then he was shocked to get a letter from his godfather, Sirius. The man was planning to marry.

Harry eventually broke down into laughter. He loved Sirius, but who in their right mind would marry the man? Now that he had had time for his mind to heal from Dementor exposure, he was sane, but more like a mirthsome child than an adult.

Harry turned over the letter and decided to wait a day or two to reply. He needed something enthusiastic and diplomatic at the same time.

He turned back to his other project. The loose group had taken to calling themselves the Recherche…and had also begun taking jobs in the wizarding world, entry level positions in the Ministries of Europe or in the few large wizarding conglomerates. Harry now had sources of information in nearly every corner of Europe, aside from Gringotts.

But Gringotts was a problem of its own. Harry's mind had turned and twisted over that place more and more frequently.

The goblins ensured that the wealthy and aged families stayed in power. Money, inherited wealth, ensured that one generation passed the reins to the next. The goblins took their little cut and screwed over the larger world.

Harry himself had a fair amount of wealth, but he'd used almost none of it accomplishing the things he'd done. He'd spent money only on the exorcist and mercenaries to retrieve Voldemort's spirit. The basilisk venom was freely donated; he'd otherwise paid for some potions ingredients and a bit of miscellany. Wealth was how the world kept score…for now. But, perhaps there was something Harry could do to change that. Change it into a currency more closely tied to merit and talent.

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Harry sent back his letter of acceptance for Sirius' wedding at Christmastime. It really was a whirlwind courtship. Harry wondered if Sirius would shortly have an heir to present to the world. An unexpected pregnancy could certainly explain the rush-rush nature of the wedding.

The harder challenge was settling on a gift for his godfather. Sirius had only a few hobbies: attending dueling matches, following Quidditch, pranking his friends, and tinkering with his motorbike.

On the negative side of the equation, Sirius didn't read, not even with the massive Black Library at his disposal…nor was he interested in new spells…nor did he practice any of the magical arts, save for enchanting Muggle objects.

Perhaps enchanting really was Sirius' thing.

Harry decided to visit Harrods in London to pick out a few interesting muggle gadgets for Sirius to enchant: blenders, toasters, and the like. Sirius would enjoy enchanting them and both of them would enjoy the products of the devices. They'd not really have to cook again…or hire an insane house elf.

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Harry looked at the small pebble on his desk. It was, so far, his greatest magical accomplishment, something that not even the goblins of Gringotts would suspect or know how to deal with. Harry had spent two months conquering the problem of inherited wealth.

He'd considered getting laws passed to limit or hinder inheritance. He knew he had a proxy vote in the Wizengamot – and so did Sirius. But, did he want to move so publicly at this early stage? His success had come from no one knowing that there was something out there pulling strings.

He'd had a detailed plot. Act one: A suggestion planted in the Wizengamot that estates without heirs should be managed by a public board for the good of the Wizarding World, for public works, orphanages, and charity. Act two of his plan on wills: the public exposure of those who killed to inherit, as Harry and his group had compiled a fairly extensive list of people who'd likely killed for money. Harry had met the most interesting people on the dueling circuit, hadn't he? People who did it themselves, people who were hired to kill, people who heard confessions of others…

Harry did scans of everyone to accumulate knowledge. He was a Ravenclaw after all.

Acts three, four, and five would have turned – hopefully – the public against inherited wealth as a public danger. But where was the fun in that? Harry's plans called for the Wizengamot to revise the inheritance rules, tax all estates for the first time, revoke wills that granted bequests to those implicated in murdering the dead person… It was elaborate and complex…and not the right thing to do.

Harry settled on the simpler solution: the pebble on the desk in front of him. This particular item had taken two months to construct, but the whole process of getting here had taken years. Harry had had to make a breakthrough in arithmancy before he could have hoped to created the tiny pebble that would become the bane of Gringotts.

Harry had not yet told anyone about his arithmantic breakthrough, although the knowledge would be enough to ensure Harry earned a Mastery in the subject. He had created a magical analysis ward. Erect the ward; throw a spell at it; then play with it to his heart's contentment. He had first worked on the stunning spell; Harry had created seven variations and documented each of them in his personal grimoire. He even used the ward to analyze the Killing Curse. He came up with three variants, all with unusual incantations. (Schilpad, Dutch for turtle, was Harry's favorite.)

But the analysis ward had proven its worth when it came time to work out how to make this pebble. Harry had thrown a transfiguration spell into the analysis ward and begun working on it. The transfiguration itself was a challenge: getting gold to transfigure itself permanently into something else. Gold and silver were notoriously difficult to influence with magic, certainly only a Philosopher's Stone could turn lead into gold. Getting gold to turn into something not quite gold was less of a challenge, but not easy.

Slowly but surely, Harry got gold – a Galleon – to transfigure itself into Leprechaun gold. It stayed transfigured long enough for the galleon to completely disappear twelve hours later.

Most of the two months of work were spent blending the new transfiguration spell with a conditional spell: the spell would only activate in the presence of gold within a certain range. That was bloody hard. Muggles had computers that lived for conditional statements; wizard magic had a tough time doing the things Harry wanted it to do.

Eventually, though, eventually….

The magical analysis ward was a great tool. It would allow Harry to carry out his war against inherited wealth without anyone else ever being the wiser.

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The wedding of the year went off without a hitch. Sirius had waited until the reception before unleashing any pranks…and the ones he'd selected were quite amusing.

Harry left after an hour and made his way to Gringotts. He got in line and requested to visit the oldest of the many Potter Family vaults. He made his way inside and put up a small device on the inside of the vault door. He also fetched a few of the books from one of the shelves. Harry left the vault and took a few steps past his vault toward the even older vault. He let a half dozen pebbles hit the floor.

He got back in the cart and began hucking pebbles every hundred feet or so on the climb back to the surface. He'd have to come back and resow the stones in a few months as the spells would wear off.

Until then, people would have a tough time with their wealth, wouldn't they? The rich folks down this branch of the many tunnels inside Gringotts wouldn't have much wealth to pass around in the future. All it would take was opening their vault doors once and all the gold would disappear in twelve hours.

Harry smiled as he exited the bank.

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Harry spent the months following the Christmas break preparing for his NEWTs. He also kept an eye out for the articles detailing the collapse of the wizard bank. It had a few dozen users now, rather than the hundreds of families it had previously.

The stories had gotten out about the goblins shortchanging wizards: substituting leprechaun gold for the real stuff. That rumor – along with a few wizards' pensieved memories – was more than enough to ruin the goblins for the time being. Now Harry had to start dropping his charmed pebbles in other places, near where the older, wealthier families might be storing their moneys. It was more fun this way.

Harry finished his lunch and returned to his common room. He had ten NEWT examinations to prepare for, didn't he? He had gotten permission to sit a NEWT for dueling as well. A few others had decided to sit the exam, so they were working together once a week. That meeting was later this afternoon before dinner.

Harry sat down and opened his charms journal. He had seven years worth of charms to reacquaint himself with. Some of them could be so much better. Harry marked a few to place in his magic analysis ward. There had to be a better cleaning charm possible. If not, there was still no better way to really understand every bit of the magic involved. Above everything else, Harry was still a curious beast. He wanted to know how everything worked – how, why, when, where, and what, his guiding principles.

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Harry took his NEWTs and smiled the whole way through. He decided to do quite a few showy things.

He took the three simple Potions required and created them with a few variations, which he documented and submitted. The Blood Replenisher had a neutral taste, rather than the spoiled milk taste it usually possessed; the Polyjuice Potion was thinner and easier to swallow; the Wit-Sharpening Solution used half the amount of precious, expensive ingredients and worked just as well.

He demonstrated the dozen charms in the practical all silently and all using modified versions he'd created using his magical analysis ward. None of the examiners knew what to make of Harry's improved charms: his Disillusionment Charm prevented even the Homenum Revelio spell from functioning; his Replication Charm didn't create one new book to supplement the original, it created five; his skill with the Animating Charm had a hospital bed galloping around the testing room.

His Transfiguration NEWT left the examiners with their jaws on the floor. Harry conjured a silver goblet – and it remained for the entirety of the hour examination, unlike nearly every other attempt at creating semi-valuable metals. He conjured whatever they asked of him; he transfigured a monkey into a man (who looked rather like Cornelius Fudge) and had the man-monkey speak, dance, and run. (Although they didn't ask him to, Harry could have turned a rock into a man, as well.)

His Defense examination was a joke. There were four dangerous creatures tested on (none were werewolves or vampires); the test briefly covered counter-curses to actual curses. The 'hardest question' was being asked how to defend against Unforgivables. Harry conjured a piece of marble. It took four reductors before the examiner destroyed the thing; it likely would have survived two Killing Curses. Making a piece of stone blew the examiners away; it was nothing really, just a bite of common sense and magic.

The true revelation was Harry revealing the existence of a limited version of his magical analysis ward during his Arithmancy exam.

"What is that," Griselda Marchbanks asked.

"It's something I cobbled together."

"It's marvelous, Mr. Potter. Throw a tickling charm in it." He obliged. "Now, can you turn the charm into something that makes people sneeze?"

He twisted his wand a few times and the spell began to change. "Madame, would you care to name the new charm?"

She shook her head. So Harry picked a silly word and cast it on her. "Sneezus."

The rest of the thirty minute session ran over by two hours as the examiners threw him a few more questions on the practice of arithmancy and then spent the rest of the time examining the new ward he'd created.

Harry Potter earned himself a few new converts that day.

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Harry graduated from Hogwarts on a Thursday and began his first dueling tournament as a fully qualified wizard on a Friday. His first round opponent in Sofia was none other than his former Charms Professor, Filius Flitwick.

The match was short, but brutal. Flitwick knew not to underestimate his former student. Harry had seen his former teacher in action. Both began with devastating opening moves.

Flitwick called down lightning, intending to stun his opponent. Harry conjured eight squat golems each just a touch larger than Flitwick. Flitwick began blasting away while Harry disappeared from his side of the platform. Two of the brutes captured the tiny professor before the man released a massive burst of energy. It knocked Flitwick to the ground, but it also seemed to impact upon his invisible opponent.

Harry recovered faster and used a forestry charm on the Professor. Instantly the professor was covered in viscous sap from top to bottom. He couldn't use his hand to make any gestures. But, in the surprise, no one noticed Harry slipping into his obviously wandless magic.

Harry strode over to his former teacher and pulled the man's wand from his sap-covered hand.

"The winner," an announcer declared.

It was a good tournament, although Harry came in fourth (after suffering losses in his last two matches). It was a perfect start to his Grand Tour…of the world.

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He returned to England a few times during his first ten years out of school. He came back to track down Petunia Dursley…finding her in Leeds under the name Mabel Weschel.

He never revealed his presence to her, but he did curse the woman with the Cassandra Curse. She'd forever speak the truth as she knew it, even to the harshest degree, and receive only scorn and disbelief for what she said. He knew his aunt would never hold down a job for long…or a romantic partner.

It all suited Harry just fine. Petunia deserved every cruelty she received…she deserved far more than Harry could ever do to her.

On the lighter side, Harry also returned for the births of Sirius' three children: James Patrick, Leonidas Orion, and Lily Persimmon. (Harry became godfather to little James who was, surprisingly enough, a metamorphmagus from the age of three.)

He came back to witness the trials of a few people that the Recherche managed to topple.

When he came back for good, at the age of thirty, Harry was ready to get down to business.

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With the knowledge he'd acquired in Egypt on immortality rituals and practices, Harry quickly rounded up an even dozen horcruxes in Britain. (One looked like it was almost a thousand years old.) He took them down to the Chamber of Secrets on a beautiful June day and got down to the destruction ritual.

The British knew little about horcruxes and published even less of it. The Egyptians, however, had published much of what they knew inside burial sites – and even in their Book of the Dead. Too bad that only the magical pharaohs could use the rituals, even if every pharaoh attempted them at some point.

A few of the Egyptian's rulers probably had seemed omnipotent as a result.

Harry spent a few hours expelling the soul fragments from the trinkets he'd collected. Riddle – including the soul fragment captured in Albania – had five, a grisly record. Harry spent very little time conversing with the captive spirit before he banished the man forever. Salazar Slytherin had one, but he was a very disagreeable chap and was also quickly banished. There were another three individuals Harry had a chance to speak with, including one who wasn't yet dead (even if his soul fragment was imprisoned). Harry noted down the man's unfamiliar name and vowed to pay him a visit.

After that, Harry paid to have a complete set of Wizengamot records for the last twenty years. It was brutal, ugly reading.

Finally, he scheduled that year's session of the Recherche, to be held in the newly constructed Potter Manor. They had a lot to do if they were going to run things from the shadows.

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The tall man stood up and walked to the podium. He looked out on the vast crowd in front of him. "Dreams never do come true in exactly the ways we expect them to. My father, Harry Potter, never expected to be a hero at age one or a worldwide dueling champion at age 20 or Minister of Magic at age 33 or the world's foremost magical theorist, alchemist, and architect. He is all this and more; he is my dad, my friend, and my champion. It is my pleasure and my sadness to introduce him to you…for the final time…as your Minister of Magic."

Harry looked at his son Theodore – one of six orphans he'd adopted – and smiled. The bit about dreams was very true; Harry had always hoped to rule from the shadows. There were far too many weak people attempting to claw their way to the top of the pile. He'd had to change his plan quickly.

Fudge had been a disaster; Bones had managed two modestly successful terms, before an assassin took her from power; Compton Marchess, a superior Quidditch player turned mediocre Minister, had been impeached for embezzlement after 23 months in office; Emmanuel Abbott had served an undistinguished full term…and then Harry Potter.

"Today is the Minister's 143rd birthday. Instead of the usual party, he asked me to invite a few people to hear him deliver a bit of an announcement. I suppose most of you are just crashing…but you're all welcome nonetheless."

No one ever uttered the word dictatorship, during or after Harry's reign. Harry lost plenty of battles with the Wizard Parliament (though none were truly ever important). He put himself up for reelection every five years, usually with one or more opponents. He never won with more than sixty percent of the vote – or had less than fifty-seven percent, either.

The long speech his son delivered…a mock eulogy of sorts…wasn't able to touch on Harry's true accomplishments. Anyone who attempted to resurrect pureblood traditionalism died silently in the night. Anyone who got a job in the Ministry solely because his father or uncle worked there suffered a debilitating accident after proving himself incompetent at his jobs. Anyone who attempted to proclaim themselves a Light Lord or a Dark Lord usually faded away, never to be heard from again. No Headmaster of Hogwarts stayed more than seven years while Harry Potter was Minister. No one ever remained the head of the opposition party for more than four years. Harry stayed in power while everyone else around him rose and fell.

"No one knew much about my father, the man of mystery he is, although he is easily the most accessible Minister in a few hundreds years. As you'll remember, he held open hours in Diagon Alley twice a month so that anyone could speak with him for any reason – whether a gripe about the bureaucracy or a request for a new law or complaints about taxation. I can barely stand to listen to my younger sister Portia complain…and I have no idea how my father was able to withstand the volume of complaints, minor and major, month after month. He is a greater wizard than any of us recognize, I think."

Greater, true. Vile, even more true. Evil, absolutely.

No one saw the truly vile things Harry had done – and continued to do. No one knew that the evilest Dark Lord in history was their elected leader. He used his position to assassinate foreign leaders; to destroy fragile, if autocratic, governments; to extinguish a few hundred ancient pureblooded families.

He had a hand in forcing, from the shadows, every European government to incorporate some form of democracy. He had spilled the blood of hundred, maybe even thousands, to allow merit to flourish among wizards and witches.

"Dad is beginning to fidget, so I think it's time I slowed down a bit to go over some of the accomplishments he'd never want to have mentioned. It took a while, but I selected a few with real meaning.

"He completed his basic reforms of wizarding governance by the time he was 36. Corrupt politicians gone; elected officials in place; well trained civil servants who swore oaths against the loss of their magic never to abuse the trust we put in them.

"By age 38, he had an active force of 300 Aurors and a reserve force of 2000 more, plus the specialized services of another 450 active and reserve hit wizards, the largest and best trained wizarding army in the world. It was enough to be able to force peace negotiations with all the simmering conflicts of the era. Peace through strength and resolve.

"At age 43, my father announced the first budget surplus the Ministry had ever had. In the past, deficits from taxation had been filled in by wealthy patrons who wanted special consideration. Since then, the Ministry has fully funded itself. No one can buy a favor any longer.

"Not to rest on merely political laurels, he announced his creation of a Sorceror's Stone at the age of 46. My father is the first master alchemist since Nicholas Flamel."

Harry had to smile at this. He'd been proclaimed a master alchemist for the feat, even though all he really did was manage to reverse engineer what Flamel had done so many years ago.

"He stood tall and proud when he adopted the first of what would be six orphans at age 47." The audience laughed at this. Harry's son was obviously referencing himself.

Harry had studied enough history to know that powerful leaders were felled by military stupidity, gross hubris, or by traitors close to them, such as wives. Harry wanted children, had a new mistress every few months, but wanted no wife to endanger him.

"He presided over the ceremony that named Sirius Black Chief Magistrate of Britain – the first time the legislative and judicial branches had ever been truly separate in Britain. Harry was 49.

"Harry announced, under some duress, that he had a few pseudonyms when he was 52. One was a best-selling muggle fiction writer." More laughs. "Another was a top magical theorist with seven books to his name (two of which had become standard reading for NEWTs at Hogwarts and Beauxbatons). A third identity was revealed to be the recent winner of the public contest to construct the New Ministry Building.

"Harry Potter, Magical Architect. One of three finalists, Harry's plan called for moving the Ministry out of London and into Wales. As you can see all around us, it called for a heavily warded valley, the creation of infrastructure for a town if anyone cared to move there, and the ministerial, judicial, and public library buildings to be built…above ground, for the first time in six centuries.

Harry thought of the losing options. One had called for refurbishing the old Ministry location, which was little better than changing out the paint; and the other proposed clearing out Knockturn Alley and building the structure there, with only an atrium above ground. Why did wizards like burrowing underground like some common animal?

The list of accomplishments continued well past the point when anyone would be embarrassed. Harry waited for his son to finish and then stood.

"Thank you all. It has been my privilege…."

Harry retired that day, but he still stuck around. He became the Chief Magistrate a few years later. He continued his strong arm tactics…he continued to be the power in Britain. Immortal, brilliant, ruthless, and wealthy….and beloved for all that he had done.

Harry could never be the power fully in the shadows, not when it was much easier to be the power visible (partially) to everyone. His tactics, his resolve, made him the most successful dark lord in history. Not the one with the highest body count or the most fearsome reputation…but the only one to fully and totally enact his own agenda.

Harry won. Harry would always win. And the people loved him for it.