Magic Knows No Boundaries But Those We Believe In (Harry Potter)

Interlude:

The Cloak: Part 2
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Azkaban Prison: November 2006
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"Appoline!" Harry called out as Fleur's mother approached with her lovely entourage.

The older Veela, who still looked like she could be Fleur's older sister, smiled graciously and genuinely as she sprinted up to him for an embrace. Ahhhh, warm fuzzies!

"Harry! Meet my very, VERY extended family." Appoline said as she motioned to the nearly oned hundred Veela behind her.

There were French Veela. There were Italian Veela. There were Russian Veela(Dear GOD! How were they SO hot?!). There were African Veela as dark as coal and as beautiful as diamonds. There were chatty American Veela, demure Thai Veela, stoic Aboriginal Veela and even one Ainu Veela who wore lipstick in such a way that it made her look like she had a creepy clown smile. Still pretty though.

"It's on days like these I resent my immunity to you ladies." Harry confessed. "If I were as glassy eyed as these fellas from you, I'd have nothing to fear from Dementors."

Ironically enough, the contingent of Aurors were holding up very well against the allure. Proper training and discipline will do that to men. Of course, they were under specific orders to LET the Veela allure affect them as they approached the island. Let the artificial love-potion-like effects keep them so emotionally preoccupied in their infatuation that the fear and cold of dementors won't reach them. Sadly, this was not an option for Harry.

"That brings up a good question." Susan interrupted, surrounded by here squad of lady Aurors. "What does that leave you and us with dementor resistance? Since Veela don't make us emotionally excited enough to resist the misery."

"Actually, they do, just not in the same way." Harry informed her. "You know that uncontrollable jealousy and resentment bubbling up in your chest by their mere presence? Yeah, that's not you being a petty bitch, that's their magic working on you. And don't discount burning envy and fiery rage, it may be enough to keep the cold and fear at bay."

Susan seemed unconvinced.

"That doesn't seem as pleasant as deep infatuation and giddiness." She complained. "I don't suppose you have male Veela with you, Delacour?"

"No such thing." Said Appoline. "Well, aside from the occasional mutant. But we haven't had one of those in a century and we always used to put them down at birth."

They all stared at her in horror.

"What?! I said it's been over a century!" She defended. "Besides, it's a mercy killing. The allure still only effects males and for some reason male relatives aren't immune as with normal Veela."

Oh god! Yeah, don't let that mutation spread. There are some birth defects worth mercy killing over, and one that makes your biological father feel lust and infatuation with his baby boy at no fault of his own is one of those. Magic was truly terrible sometimes.

"It is moot point. I have friend coming." Viktor told them.

Hermione turned on him.

"And this friend can make us emotionally resistant to dementors?" Susan asked.

"No. But HIS friend can." Viktor explained.

As if his words summoned them, a final entourage of allies portkeyed in. Even without the bright red, yellow and blue quidditch robes they all wore, Harry would have recognized the team of massive, tattooed Kiwis ten miles away. The entirety of the Moutahara Macaws stood before Azkaban, and they had brought with them their mascot, Sparky the phoenix.

"Vik-TOR!" Captain Hongi yelled, carrying Sparky on his leather-gloved arm like a falcon.

Australian phoenixes are big. While Fawkes was tall and slender, Sparky had a body similar to a pelican, but strongly resembling Fawks in the face. He also sported a vibrant blue steak along his back and on his crest feathers to compliment the usual red and gold.

The mystic bird took one look at Harry and pounced from Hongi's gloved hand to glide over at him. Harry would never admit it, but a phoenix charging him was enough to make him freeze. Nothing made Harry freeze, but this did. And it was for nothing, because all Sparky did was take up a perch on Harry's shoulder.

The rest of their contingent stared with a mixture of expressions that all amounted to boredom as Sparky settled in on his neas seat. Was Harry's life so chaotic that every increasingly surprising abnormality seemed more mundane with each new bizarreness? Yes. Yes it was.

"Because Harry Potter?" Viktor suggested.

"Yup. That's pretty much all there is to it at this point, eh?" Draco added.

Kingsley separated them into groups. All women, or individuals immune to the Veela allure, such as Harry, Brain and his highest students form the DOM, were put into one group with Sparky as their guardian. The remainder were all split into teams with their own Veela guard and apportioned Auror's based on their skill with the patronus. Love had their own platoon of members from his/her/its own department. Several of whom had gone through the same procedure to fuse into the Greek ideal of two people merged into an eight limbed, two headed abominations.
"I am afraid to ask." Said Hermione. "But why do you all not have Veela in your group? Or else, why are you not joining Harry's team?"

Despite being cloaked, Harry could sense both faces smiling at the innocent question.

"Because we are all immune to both the powers of the Veela, and the powers of dementors." The male head said.

"Plus, we make Harry uncomfortable, and we need him to focus." Said the female one with a wink at harry that he couldn't see but could somehow feel.

"How... How is that possible?" Dudley dared to ask.

The octopus double shrugged.

"When you are permanently bonded to the love of your life, it's easy to feed off of those most beautiful emotions even in the darkest depths of Azkaban." The male head said underneath their double hood. "And you know as well as we do, Harry, that Love is the most powerful force in the universe."

Harry shuddered, both at the creepy insinuation and the fact that it was true. Of all the departments, Love had the greatest claim on him save for maybe Death. Honestly? they all did. Subject of a prophecy, master of the deathly hollows, only know possessor of a mother's sacrificial protection? There's prophecy, death and love in one go. Add his odd extrasensory ability and Brain could throw his claim over Harry as a potential recruit too.

One by one they were sent off on oversized row boats, several dozen people a piece, with Harry's at the front.

He sat at the head of his team's boat, an oversized rowboat capable of seating all two dozen of then, while wielding his wandless patronus. The stag spirit animal cloaking him in such a way as to make him look like a wendigo of divine light. With Sparky the Phoenix on his shoulder he must have looked like the pure antithesis of evil.

With Sparky's warm comfort on his shoulder and Dudley's strength of character by his side combined made him feel like it too.

"And I thought I was a show off." Brain complained.

"Clearly, you do not spend enough time with our Harry, or else you'd know better." Hermione chided the cloaked man.

Harry strongly disagreed. But then again, and the formidable force of DOM fighters and the absolute harem of gorgeous, badass lady aurors - and Hermione - were also a huge moral boost.
Yeah, he was feeling pretty good about their chances.

Harry could only smirk as the boat propelled itself magically across the deceptively calm sea to the storm of cold and sadness that awaited them.

---

We are Unspeakables. It is not in our domain to make nor enforce law, nor to be a part of the machinations of politics. It is our domain to know.

Academics learn, but never know. Theory is the best they can achieve, though even then they stop at mere hypotheses or pure conjecture. We are better than them.

We seek to know truths, not facts nor opinions. The truth. What is it? That is the adventure. And it is a lonely journey, for our oath binds us, sows us down, preventing us from sharing with others who would help us on the path.

Do you accept this burden? This duty?

- Speach given by Purgatory, Head Unspeakable of afterlife research, to all new recruits.​

---

Father Time struggled back to his feet after tackling the Delacour woman to the ground.

The infiltration had gone well, with masters of the patronus taking the lead as they advanced.

But the foul creatures had changed in their starvation. Having started out somewhat resembling emaciated corpses, it was surprising to see that years of being cutoff from any food source had made them grown. The scabrous skin on their arms rippled over hidden forms that resembled femurs or tibias or ulnas stacked on top of each other. Like somebody had taken many such vibes from human corpses, made a faggot out of them, and wrapped it in filthy leather.

For a while they advanced unhindered, the patronus keeping them at bay while the other wizards conjured or transfigured methods of restraining them. You couldn't kill them, but you could chain them and cage them. And this method worked perfectly.

Until it didn't.

For dementors to be hungry enough to try and force their way through the protective barrier of light, and nearly succeed, meant they thoroughly misunderstood these creatures and their limits.
So Father Time took his opportunity to show the wizarding world the knowledge and power his department had uncovered, and cast that most devastating spell of his own discovery. The ball of greyish, rampaging mist left his want and straight into the center of the group of dementors.

When it struck he immediately realized something was wrong, and tackled the nearest person to the ground. Most of the rest went down with him.

Bad here he was, his skin tingling with he feeling of a thousand, burning ants. The ambient radiation in the air he could taste it, he recognized metallic taste of the chemo treatment from years ago.

The few other times he used this time altering magic to hyperage had always resulted in such an effect, an easily predictable one with any knowledge of atomic half-lives. Such magic was unpredictable, and he may have overdone it.

He meant to age the dementors and surroundings by a hundred years. He might have gotten it closer to ten thousand. With a half life of one hundred and fifty years, the silicates in the basalt making up the hallway it all decayed to near nonexistence, breaking down into a massive dose of beta radiation and lower elements in an instant. He shuddered to think how much gamma or alpha radiation might have been released by trace elements within the rocks and soil.

"What the hell was that?!" Apolline asked when she ducked back up from cover.

"An experiment." Father time told her. "I had an idea for a way to kill dementors, and that was it. Do you see a dementor anymore? Let alone ten?"

And indeed, the ten or more dementors they had come across were nothing more than a pile of hyper-decayed... stuff, littering the ground before them.

It was either the intense radiation, aging or actual starvation that did it. And because if his blunder with overdoing the spell he had no way of knowing which it was.

"Should we turn back?" Asked A young man in his department. "I don't know of any magic to clear away radioactive material safely."

Father Time did. It amounted to either coating the fallout in material, any material that can block the type of radiation in question such as paper for alpha radiation or cloth for beta. Aluminum would be better, but it is notoriously difficult to conjure or transfigured, nearly as much as copper silver and gold, and like all conductive materials reverted from the transfiguration shockingly fast.
"Yes. Clear out more paths and capture more dementors. The fewer there are to come after us when we descend into the dead zone..." Father Time stopped midspeach.

The piles of dead dementors twitched.

Then they wriggled.

They writhed, and expanded, and contracted and crawled over one another in what Father Time hoped wasn't an act of intimacy, for it was ugly. They the teeth came out. Sharp, jagged, broken teeth amongst a swarm of bony masses hidden beneath the leathery, scabrous skin of dementors. Then there's were the hands, too many fingered, too many jointed hands jutting out of any limb ending there was.

The teeth slid across the appendages to the center mass where they lined up like a zipper, a zipper that then opened to show the inside. Hunger. Ten or more millennia of hunger mutating the creatures in an instant into the monster before them.

So yeah, starvation, aging and intense radiation were not in fact fatal to dementors. Three things to add to the list of ways to not kill them.

"Should we call for..." A young American Veela tried to ask."

"Call for Harry Potter? Yes." Father Time confirmed, with zero damage to his pride.

They just needed to hold out until he got here.

---

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Chapter 28:

Performance Evaluation​

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Harry woke up in the laundry room of the Shrieking Shack that Sunday. He had fallen asleep while doing the laundry the night before after everyone had filed out.

It was one of the many bits of vital minutia he hadn't thought about at all in regard to running a shelter for werewolves. The sheets and linen covered in blood, sweat, fur and urine, torn bedding and the used cauldrons and goblets. They all needed proper cleaning. Some, like the silver goblets and cauldrons, by hand to avoid magical contamination. He saved laundry for last because he knew a mountain of recently washed and dried blankets would tempt him too thoroughly to sleep.

Fortunately, the spells for washing and drying clothes, or bed things, left them as warm and fluffy as an actual dryer. And so, laying on the unfolded pile was like putting on a pair of underwear that just came out of the dryer, but around his entire body. When combined with the October cold snap they were experiencing, it was divine night of sleep.

With the greatest of reticence, he pried himself away from the mountain of blankets and sheets and listened to the sweet music his joints made. Like an orchestra made entirely of percussion artists, they were. And then he made them sing for him again by stretching properly. A quick round of self-cleaning charms later and his clothes were clean and somewhat ironed, his mouth was washed out and his hair was temporarily flattened. It would be back to its normal messiness within a few minutes, don't worry.
"Alright. To work." He said to himself.

Still endeavoring to use his wand instead of wandless magic Harry charmed each blanket individually to animate and fly after him like smoky whisps. He lead them past the giant, and still thankfully unused, freezer and up to the first floor where their home in the barracks waited for them. The mattresses he cleaned and repaired the afternoon before were still clean and untorn. Giving each set of sheets and linen a flick with his wand they dashed to their respective mattresses and made themselves. It took an extra twist of his wand for them to make themselves into proper military form. It all looked rather snazzy, and there he was without any quarters.

With the beds made, the last of his duties at the shack were done until the next full moon. And would you know it? It smelled like somebody was in the kitchen making grey tea.

Harry followed is nose to the dining room where the hot mug was waiting for him and took a seat.

"Ahhh. Thank you Albus." Harry greeted the old man across from him as he took a sip.

"Of course, Hadrian." Dumbledore said, seemingly having finished off his own mug.

Harry looked at the clock. Yup. It was eight thirty already and time for their meeting. They had agreed to meet to discuss the grand opening and the possibility of it being suitable for potential Hogwarts students suffering from lycanism and as monthly hands-on training for medical students. The latter harry would say was a success. The former?

"I hear there was an altercation yesterday morning between staff?" Albus broached the elephant in the room.

Harry sighed, mostly from contentment at the tea, but also a little bit in annoyance with his family.
"Yup. Have you talked to them?" Harry asked.

"Yes I have. And I convinced them they were in the wrong." Albus told him.

Harry raised an eyebrow at that boast.

"How'd you manage that?" Harry asked.

"I pointed out the obvious measures you took that showed even you distrusted the Carrows and had them on a short leash." Albus said.

Huh?

"How do you figure that?" Harry asked.

"Well for one you only had them on during the day and only had people on our side at night during the transformation." Albus said, ticking off a finger. "For two you had Andromeda with them, who is one of the best fighters on our side, even if she claims neutrality, and her and Narcissa could handle both of them and you at once. And either you or the Black sisters were always accompanying one of them."
Damn. Were his motivations that transparent?

"Many people claim neutrality in the conflict, usually for very complicated and multifold reasons, but everyone has their bias. And you are biased against Death Eaters." Albus concluded. "That does not make you an alley to their opposition in this conflict, but it does mean you are not truly neutral. That is what I convinced them of at least."

Harry finished off his mug of tea and leaned back in his seat. Thinking on how open and honest he should be with the man across from him.

"I am ideologically more in line with the purebloods than you." He said outright.

At this Albus raised both of his eyebrows in surprise at the admission.

"You use words like "conflict" and "opposition." Voldemort and his ilk consider themselves resistance fighters against an occupying force and a corrupt government. Their opposition pretends to be oppressed minorities wrongly persecuted for being of different blood. But let's cut all that bullshit and call this what it is." Harry explained. "This is a civil war, and Voldemort fights for the native people of this land who have every right to want Muggleborns to either integrate or get out. Just as all peoples of all nations should want from immigrants. It is their tactics I cannot tolerate, but don't blow smoke up my ass and claim people on your side don't use similar tactics when it suits them." Harry went on. "There is also the complicated matter that most people I personally love are in opposition to Voldemort and or outright Muggleborns themselves, even if they stubbornly refuse to understand that magical Britain is a separate nation from Muggle Britain and has been for a millennium. Also fuck Voldemort. I cannot emphasize that enough."

Dumbledore chuckled at the crassness but did not disagree.

"Civil war it is. And you don't want to be part of it. You want to save people on both sides by bringing them into neutrality?" Albus summarized.

"That is the motivation behind my tactics, yes, tactics that I hear confuse the hell out of both you and Riddle." Harry said with a smirk.

Dumbledore outright laughed at that one.

"Indeed. And they are working." Albus confessed. "There are some things that all people in all conflicts can relate to. All people eat. All people sleep. All people get sick. All people die. These are the things we can come together on. And many on both sides of this conflict, I'm sorry, civil war, have loved ones suffering from lycanism and you are bringing them together to ease such suffering."

Harry nodded.

"And I also see you striving to ease tensions between your students and bring them together, thus away from war." Albus went on. "This is all to say I like you very much Hadrian Morrigan. Both personally and professionally. I always strive to find teachers that can remain neutral on the war, never did I hope to find one not only neutral, but genuinely antithetical to it. A true peacemaker. I think I have much to learn from you. And so do our students. I think it will be several more months of you servicing outside werewolves here before we can open Hogwarts to children with lycanism, but thankfully we have until next September before we can start accepting them anyways."

Albus stood up and put out his hand.

Harry hesitated.

"No criticism of the grand opening? Just... mulligan until we have more information?" Harry summarized their meeting.

"Mulligan until we have more information." Albus affirmed.

Harry stood up himself and shook Dumbledore's hand.

"That is more than fair. I'm surprised to discover you're more forgiving of my opening performance than I am." Harry admitted.

"We all need to be less hard on ourselves." Albus said cryptically. "It seems to me that you are overly critical of yourself. You did excellently, not that there's an overabundance of historical examples for werewolf sanctuaries to compare your performance to and I expect more excellence from you in the future."

Harry let his head lower at the joke and compliment it conveyed.

"Well. I understand you have a busy day ahead of you. I'll be on my way." Albus excused himself.

"Me too. See you at work." Harry answered as he opened the door for him to leave.

With that done he marched to the fireplace, threw in a handful of floo powder, and was on his way.

---

The Gringotts lift rose to deposit him on the second floor. As soon as he stepped out Harry came face to face with a man he was not expecting to have his first contact with for months to come.

"Good morning, Hadrian." Voldemort greeted him cordially.

"Good Morning, Tom." Harry responded just as personably.

Harry put his arm out to keep the lift door open and motioned with his other hand for Voldemort to continue on his way. He studiously ignored the significantly older, and significantly more handsome, man raising an eyebrow at the use of his first name.

"Thank you, Hadrian." Voldemort thanked hesitantly.

"You're welcome, Tom." Harry said cheerily.

Voldemort walked past him into the lift and pressed the button for the first floor.

"Good day, Hadrian."

"Good day, Tom."

When the lift door close Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. Good first contact. Thank goodness they were at Gringotts and neither were willing to start a war with the Goblins or else that would have gotten very ugly. The Eldar wand came a hairs breadth from ejecting from the wand holster into his hand. Good thing he didn't panic, eh?

Harry took a deep breath, straightened his clothes and marched down the hallway to his destination. Four doors down was the room that held the entirety of the Schmicklehook clan and his destination. He gave the double doors a hard rasp and they swung open at his touch.

As soon as he crossed the threshold all five goblins at the head table sat up straight, their backs rigid and their faces panicked.

"Do we need to call in a cleanup crew?" The eldest asked hesitantly.

"Noooo?" Harry said slowly in confusion. "Whyyyyy would you?"

"You two didn't try to kill each other out there?"

"No. We were civil. The killing comes much later. You have time to prepare mops and caskets." Harry quipped to the amusement of the five goblins.

He made the joke just as the side door opened and in walked his investors. Lucius Malfoy led the group, followed by a stunning ebony-skinned witch who almost looked like an eastern European supermodel painted charcoal black. Behind them were Valentine Crabbe, Hildebrand Goyle, Garrick Ollivander and a man Harry didn't recognize. He was a middle-aged gentleman with a well-defined touch of grey in his black hair and short beard. Dressed as regally as any pureblood Harry had met.

"It's nice to finally meet you; Mister Malfoy, Ms Zabini. And it's good to see you again, Valentine, Hildebrand, Garrick... I'm sorry sir, but I don't know who you are?"

They all nodded in turn at his greeting as they took their seats, until he got to the last person at the table. He smirked at Harry's ignorance while everyone else at the table snickered.

"I am Fleamont Potter. You are acquainted with my son and daughter-in-law." Harry's grandfather said. "And I assure you I had words with Jim concerning his behavior. It will not happen again, and he wishes to apologize and continue working with you.

Harry schooled his features carefully at learning the man's identity.

"That's excellent news!" Harry said honestly. "I would be delighted to have them all back."

"Well, we have even more good news." Said Lucius. "This will be a short performance evaluation on account of everyone present has already agreed to continue funding the sanctuary."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He really wanted his obligations for the weekend to be over so he could treat Bella to a long-overdue date.

"We have also agreed to fund your land purchase and farm." Valentine told him. "Next weekend we expect you to begin souting out locations."

"Oh no, I'll pay for that out of pocket." Harry refused. "I will need funding for the land purchase, supplies and labor. But the reconnaissance? I'll be paying for that out of pocket. Mostly because I will be getting up to a whole host of shenanigans unrelated to the sanctuary and I don't want the business associated with it."

"I am hesitant to ask." Ms Zabini pre-empted. "But what kind of shenanigans are we talking about here?"

"A lot of dinner, tea and omantic shenanigans." Harry answered honestly.

Garrick gave him two thumbs up at the humorous admission.

"But I will still need help from you, my investors, to afford whatever parcel I find for the future farming branch of my company."

"And you shall have it." Said Lucius. "Upon our independent inspections, of course."

"Of course." Said Schmicklehook the second. "We shall adjourn here and meet again in one month's time after the next full moon."

He banged his gavel, and everybody took is as their cue to stand up and make for their individual exits. Except Fleamont. The elder Potter made a beeline directly for Harry.

"Hadrian, may I call you Hadrian?" Fleamont asked.

"Of course, sir." Harry answered.

"Excellent. I want to tell you that my son and daughter-in-law have raved about you ever since your first meeting, in fact, the only other thing they talk about is, well... you." With that last bit he smirked and winked.

Harry did not get the joke, but was sure it would make sense later.

"And have I lived up to the legend?" harry asked.

"Which legend? The testimony of those who have met you or the legend of your deeds as per the news and rumor mill?" Fleamont asked.

"Either? Both?" Harry said.

"Hmm. I can't quite be sure." Fleamont said as he scratched his short beard in deep thought. "But I daresay it's high time I found out. And so, I would like to cordially invite you to lunch with me."

Harry was elated but did his best to hide it. Lunch with grandpa? There were few better things to do on a Sunday, especially when said lunch would be the first one ever shared between the two in either timeline.

"Where and what day, sir?" Harry asked.

"Florean Fortescue's, and right now." Fleamont said.

Harry deflated somewhat.

"Oh. I was planning to spend what little of my Sunday I had left with my girlfriend." Harry said. "Are you sure we can't do sometime this week when I have a free period?"

Fleamont nodded slowly, squinting as he looked off into space.

"Well, I tell you what. Let's make it a double date, shall we?" He offered. "After all, my wife is waiting through those doors to go have ice cream with me, and she's as eager to meet you as I was. You will love her, and we haven't seen little Bella in years. Not since she got so busy with the dueling circuit. She somehow makes time for you, but not her dear second aunt Euphemia and uncle Fleamont ."

Harry was blown away by the offer, and blushed dutifully at the barb. He only then remembered that his own great-grandmother was, indeed, a Black. Soooo. Her great grandfather and his great grandmother were siblings? What did that even make them? One sixty forth genetically related?Welcome to Magical Britain.

"That sounds like a great way to spend my Sunday. Let me pop off a patronus and I'll meet you in the side chamber?"

Fleamont snapped his feet together and gave Harry a curt bow and kindly smile, both of which Harry returned, and marched through the door where Lucius, Valentine, Hildebrand, Garrick and Ms Zabini had left.

---

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Chapter 29:

Double Date​

---

After casting a quick Patronus message Harry followed Fleamont through the side door to find Lucius speaking amicably with a black-haired woman who didn't look a day over forty. But such was the nature of witches that they didn't start to look like Minerva until seventy, and only then with the stress of being a transfiguration professor and deputy headmistress.

"Mister Morrigan, allow me to formally introduce you to your main backer. Lucius Malfoy." His grandfather said, waving for them to come together.

Harry pushed forward and shook the man's hand. They shared a polite smile and Harry put aside all preconceived notions... for now.

"Ah. It's a pleasure to speak to you in person. My wife and in-laws alike speak highly of you." Said Lucius. "And from what I've seen so far, they are right to be impressed."

Harry waved away the compliment with his usual blushing smile.

"Oh, they're just feeding into the gossip about me. They exaggerate." Harry said.

Lucius raised an elegant eyebrow in that way Harry never could replicate - not that he ever practiced it, no - and refused to let Harry brush the compliment aside.

"Gossip you say? The same gossip claiming you defended a known Death Eater, verbally and physically?" Lucius clarified. "After hiring said Death Eater and his wife?"

Harry blanched. Lucius had him there.

"Wellllll. I more hired his wife than him. Figured she'd feel safer with her husband there." He explained. "I try to be unbiased, but I am biased towards people with a history of caring for werewolves, and who are protective of them. But try to be unbiased with everything else."

Lucius nodded appreciatively.

"And you have done an excellent job in both regards. Your neutrality has not gone unnoticed." Lucius said, before a cough from the woman beside him ended their current conversation. "Oh yes! Where are my manners. Allow ME to introduce you to Euphemia Potter."

Fleamont took over.

"I have invited Professor Morrigan to join Euphemia and I on our yearly trip to Florean's." His grandfather explained. "I have reserved at able, as one has to do in order to eat in person these days."
"Ah." Said Lucius. "Is it your anniversary again already?"

"Indeed." Said Euphemia. "Happens the same day, every year."

"As do many other events in many other people's lives that I can't keep track of and Narcissa fails to remind me of." Lucius barbed back. "Though I do wonder if I should take her for ours. I seem to recall it was the two of you who recommended I take her there when I was courting her."

Euphemia snorted derisively at Lucius' words.

"You?! Court her?!" She mocked with a high-pitched laugh that reminded Harry a bit too much of Bellatrix... the one from his world. "Right. That's how it happened."

Lucius sighed and turned to Harry.

"This is why Muggles are fortunate to not have their elders stay with them as long." He said. "Our ancient ones remember things. And stay with us well into their thousands, and we must suffer them reminding us of things we would rather forget."

"Until such time as age finally catches with us just assuredly as Muggles, and our minds go." Fleamont said. At which point I look forward to you reminding us of these bittersweet memories. But you need not worry, I have faith that our Lil will have raised us a glorious grandson by then to do the job."

Harry had to literally bite his lips together to keep a straight face during their back and forth. His temptation to mock Lucius for losing a dick-measuring contest with a woman, and several old woman jokes on Euphemia, were difficult demons to keep down but he somehow managed. Then, Euphemia turned on Hary.

"What say you, Professor?" She asked, with a hint of something behind her voice. Not daring, not joy, but maybe expectation? And not the kind he was used to. "Will our Lily counteract her... little problem and give us our long-awaited grandson?"

Harry stood there confused for a moment, before he remembered he was the world-famous - okay, only UK famous, but he'd be fixing that soon - divination professor and seer. Divinations like that on command were a bit beyond him, even if he weren't cutting himself off from Ghillie Dhu. It was time to work out his best charm, and not of the magical variety.

"You must be joking!" He said with an exaggerated snort. "To even ask me that is to insinuate you haven't even met Lily Potter... you have, haven't you?"

Euphemia smiled at him in that way classy women do, with every single perfectly white tooth in her mouth showing and dazzling him. Meanwhile, Fleamont gave him that infectious and inspiring wink again. Harry couldn't understand why, but that simple wink filled him with as much pride as the resurrection stone had when it had showed him his parents in the forest so many years ago.

"Well." Said Lucius, with a glance into space like he was considering a far-flung possibility. "I can't exactly fathom anybody with the audacity to insult Mrs. Potter's abilities. Our differences aside, that woman scares me, and should scare anybody who doubts her. But I must be getting home to an equally, well, almost equally intimidating woman who is currently on the warpath with her godfather and has forced me into picking up the pieces. Good day."

They all bowed their heads in an automatic gesture of goodbye and watched him walk to the far door where he exited the room. This left Harry alone with his grandparents, wondering where grandpappy Crabbe and Goyle, not to mention that beautiful Africana goddess and Garick had gone off to. He was nervous and uncomfortable enough to wish for either of them as backup... okay, maybe more Garrick than the others.

"So!" Said Fleamont, clapping his hands together like a miserly banker. "Ice cream?"

"Pistachio." Euphemia demanded.

Fleamont made a gagging motion with his finger and mouth.

"Matcha." Harry demanded in turn.

Fleamont made a gagging sound at that suggestion.

"How about the lavender honey flavor Florean has been experimenting with?" Fleamont offered as an alternative.

Harry and Euphemia looked at each other inquisitively, then turned back to Fleamont.

"That genuinely sounds delightful." Said Euphemia.

"Or at least interesting." Harry offered. "Has he been experimenting with any other unorthodox flavor combinations?" asked Harry.

"Does he ever spend his time doing anything else?" Fleamont defended. "We will find out when we get there, I'm sure."

With that, his grandmother took his grandfather by the arm and let Harry lead the way. He dutifully opened the door for them to exit and they walked the halls of Gringotts in comfortable silence. Their silence ended when they exited out into the noisy street of Diagon Alley.

Harry allowed himself to appreciate the fruits of his labor thus far. People, families, walked from store to store. People smiled. People talked. Stores were un-boarded and open for business. He couldn't take all the credit for the healing that this town had gone through. All he did was get the ball rolling.
They arrived at Florean to find Bellatrix already there. He must have interrupted her gym time because she had no makeup on and looked like she'd just worked up a sweat and only had time to towel off and change before apparating over.

"I hope we didn't keep you waiting." Fleamont said.

She curtsied politely and shook her head.

"I just arrived." She said. "And I already told Florean to prepare our table."

As if on cue, the now board free and properly open ice cream parlor door and out came the king of frozen dairy himself. He was dressed more extravagantly than he had in Harry's reality, but then again, he was also alive. It was shaping up to be a good day.

"Welcome. Your table is waiting. Enjoy yourselves and pay your tab before you leave." He waved them inside.

They entered the ice cream parlor to find it fully renovated. It now had two stories of private booths and the front counter seemed more set up for carry outs for people who wanted to buy the usual and eat outside or take their order home.

Florean walked them up the stairs and past already full booths. Harry loosened his grip on Ghillie Dhu to feel out the booths. Ignoring the cheer and disgust and all-around good time the occupants were having, the booths themselves were absolute bunkers. Layers of steel sheet metal with scaled iron covering both sides and separated by hazel wood filled the interior of each. The steel would block most projectiles, iron dissipates most magic, hazel wood absorbs magical residue from curses in particular. Florean had turned his parlor into the second safest place in the alley. Any fights breaking out amongst ideologues on either side of the war outside would cause little harm to those inside these booths.

Harry was sufficiently impressed.

"Here we are." Florean declared as they reached booth twenty-nine. "Order whatever you like, and it shall appear. You have privacy wards so you can be as rowdy as you like, just remember to pay your tab at the end."

With that, he excused himself and they all took their seats. At the end of the table, against the wall, was a sign.

Florean Fortescue is now teaming up with Bertie Bott's every flavored beans in our new promotional product, every flavored shots. Enjoy hundreds of flavors until you throw up, either from too much ice cream, or that one flavor you can't quite handle.

Now in optional alcoholic variety.​

Harry looked up to find all three of his companions were sharing a frightened look with him and each-other. They all answered at once.

"Yes."

"Yes"

"Yes"

"Ab-so-lute-ly!"

Fleamont touched the plate at the center and spoke into it to order.

"Every-Flavored shots for four until we say stop." His grandfather ordered.

Four shot glasses appeared, each filled with a green ice cream. They each took their shot glass and brought it up to their noses. Harry couldn't smell a thing. Of course, they would make it scentless. Keep the surprise until they downed it. Only one thing to do.

All at once, they shotgunned their glasses of ice cream and leaned back to let the flavor sink in. Freshly cut grass. Not exactly delicious, but a giggle-worthy start and one that didn't make any of them gag. Actually, Harry could see himself eating an occasional grass-flavored bean. He'd order them when he got back to the castle.

"Round 2?" Fleamont declared.

On and on the shots came. Most of the time it was pretty regular ice cream flavors. Raspberry, coffee and plain old vanilla went down easy. But the real fun started when they had flavors they couldn't quite place. In the same way that a person familiar with pistachios would never be able to identify pistachio ice cream, spinach ice cream tasted nothing like spinach. They eventually gave up and a notecard at the center told them what it was. It wasn't terrible. The same thing happened with a positively disgusting pink ice cream that turned out to be salmon. They also got the classic ear wax and bile flavors between relatively normal lemon pepper and peanut butter flavors.

It was around the time they gagged on the wasabi-flavored ice cream that they realized Fleamont hadn't made a distinction on what type of ice-cream shots they were eating, as his evidently intoxicated grandmother was getting handsy with his grandfather and using his shoulder as a cheek scratcher. Bella seemed to be emboldened by the older woman's behavior and did the same to Harry. He did not complain.

Euphemea, on the other hand...

"Oh dear, I think we should change to non-alcoholic." Euphemia warned. "We don't want Bella to make any mistakes."

Harry snorted at the teasing from his elder but raised an eyebrow at the now enraged woman on his shoulder. He had let Ghillie Dhu slip.

"Not after what happened with your ex." His grandmother finished. "You seem to actually like this one. So, no foolishness."

Bella retreated from his shoulder and sat up straight, stiff and cut off.

"...Rodolphus?" Harry clarified.

His grandparents both looked at him strangely.

"No, son." Fleamont corrected. "The... other one."

By now Euphemea was glaring back at Bellatrix.

"I think, it may be high time for you to consider having an open and honest conversation with this young man." His grandmother said.

"Well, I think it's time for you to consider making vociferous use of a morning star as a marital aid!" Bella snapped back.

They all went silent and Bella's vicious retort. Fleamont was the first to snort, then their drunken laughter all came at once.

"You know, initially my mind went straight to the matricidal interpretation of your comment." Fleamont said. "Then my mind went to the... cruder interpretation."

Bellatrix sunk into a deeply depressed facepalm at his explanation.

"My mind went straight to the crude one." Harry admitted cheerfully. "But that's because I'm young and hormonal."

Bellatrix sunk further into her facepalm.

"I promise, I meant the former." She pleaded. "I promise I intended it to be a scathing matricidal joke. Which is a topic of conversation that I have been assured is appropriate for a double date."

Harry had to think on this.

"Assured by whom? The Tonks family or the darker company you once kept?" He asked.

She stilled and slowly removed her head from her hands to give him a hard, inquisitive look.

"You know what?" She asked rhetorically. "I can't even tell anymore, parsing the different flavors of silly and dark humor is beyond my abilities. They're all a lot more similar than they like to think."

From experience with both sides of the war - both before and after the war - Harry could relate.

---

The date eventually came to a close and Harry found himself walking Bella home. They had taken the long path, through the Leaky Cauldron and streets of London. They walked for almost an hour, arm-in-arm and head on shoulder, until they neared and passed a familiar street. Two blocks from Grimmauld place Bella unlatched herself from Harry.

"This is me." She said as she approached there.

She opened the door and stepped inside, turning around to lean against the door pane and talk to him more.

"You're not even going to ask?" she clarified.

"About what my nosy... companions tried to reveal?" He clarified.

"Yes." She said.

"Do you want me to ask?" He asked.

"I want you to want to ask." She explained.

Unlike most things with women, that made perfect sense.

"Okay. Who was your ex?" He asked.

She hardened her facial expression and took a deep breath through her nose.

"An old mentor of mine and friend of the family." She explained. "A man by the name of Tom Riddle."

Harry let the information sink in. Then he allowed his memories of the Bellatrix of his old world and her obsession with the obviously a-sexual creature who never reciprocated her obvious madness-induced lust. From what he'd seen of the man in this world, he seemed to have an intact body. Not that he'd checked for testicles.

"You dated Voldemort?" Harry clarified. "Was he aware that it was dating?"

She rolled her eyes.

"I did not date Tom Riddle." She clarified. "I fucked Tom Riddle."

Harry could only back away in surprise at the venom she used to accentuate the foul language.

"Seduced, is a better word for it." She added. "Plied him with alcohol at my aunt Walburga's party and coaxed the absurdly handsome, charming and powerful man out of his clothes. Like many other young girls tried and failed to do before me. But I succeeded, despite being married to a man that worshipped the ground I walked on. Neither of them ever forgave me for it, and worse, Tom tried to make something more of it, which hurt all the more. For all three of us."

She looked like she wanted to say more. Perhaps about the destruction of her marriage and death of her husband. But she didn't go on.

"Which is why I'm not inviting you inside tonight, despite wishing to. Goodnight, Hadrian." She said to dismiss him.

She did not close the door nor break eye contact with him as she said this. And Harry noted the distinct contradiction of her body language and her words. The way she wrapped herself against the doorframe, one leg rubbing the other and come-hither eyes. She was daring him to change her mind. She wanted him to change her mind. Or would it be better put, that she wanted him to want to change her mind?

"Goodnight, Bella." Harry said, before turning around and walking away.

She closed the door roughly behind him but didn't quite slam it. He didn't let himself get caught up in thoughts of her displeasure and frustration at him letting her go for that night. He wasn't interested in anything more that evening and refused to allow any woman the excuse of alcohol - on either of their parts - to excuse away romantic decisions they both knew were genuine at the time.

And so, he walked along, to the end of the street planning to call on the knight bus for a safe, and absurdly fun while drunk, ride home. He paused as he passed an elderly homeless man in ragged clothes. He sat at a bench, staring intently at Bella's apartment building. An entire twelve pack of beer sat at his side and he he held one bottle in his hand. Harry would have simply kept walking past him were it not for his scar tingling ever so slightly.

He stopped in front of the man. To test his suspicion, he turned away from the man then turned back. He repeated this action twice. Tingle. No tingle. Tingle. No Tingle.

"Good evening, Tom." Harry greeted with slurred speech.

"Good evening, Hadrian." Voldemort greeted with slurred speech, dropping his glamour as he did so.
Harry gripped his wand tightly at the sight of the lightly greyed man and his seemingly impossibly handsome features.

"Oh, put that away!" He scolded. "We're both too far into drunkenness to manage a fight tonight. We'd both stumble pathetically and do more injury to ourselves than each other and by the end of it both retreat in humiliation."

Harry snorted humorlessly at the mental image of them doing exactly that. He conceded and took a seat beside his nemesis.

"Rough day?" Harry asked, noting the black eye Voldemort probably didn't mean to cancel the glamour on.

"Weird one, certainly." Tom admitted, offering Harry the last beer, which he refused.

"Mine too. Weird, but pleasant." Harry offered.

"In my case, weird and... introspective." Tom offered back.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me about it?" Harry asked. "In my experience, enemies make better confidants, they don't gossip to your friends and loved ones."

"Oh, so you are my enemy after all?" Tom clarified. "There seems to be a bit of confusion in that department."

Harry grinned maliciously as they both stared off at Bellatrix' apartment.

"But alright. I decided to confront my ex today because I found out she was dating a man almost twenty years her junior." Tom said. "She seemed to be under the impression that I hired a hit squad to murder said man and promptly gave me my second black eye in as many weeks - by the way, Black family women know how to throw a spec-tacular jab. You have been warned."

Harry nodded studiously at the new information.

"Then I made a quick visit to the bank to find out all of my investments had greatly improved, along with every other account in the country." Voldemort went on, "And a quick walk down Diagon Alley showed all of my economic warfare against this corrupt nation had come to naught and been undone by a single individual."

"I don't deserve that much credit." Harry countered.

"Yes, actually. You do." Voldemort said. "Your tactics, rooted in an understanding of human nature and the power of social interactions are beyond anything I have ever seen or contemplated. And you have done more to fix the issues in the magical government and society at large that has united me with fellow... malcontents, than my out and out war ever has."

Harry let his jaw drop at that admission.

"And so I had to sit and think, drinking through two packs of beer throughout the day, on whether our war was even worth it all this time." Tom confessed. "A war I was chosen for by people left unheard and oppressed by a legislative body that chose the interests of outside groups over their own constituents, who watched helplessly as their culture was thrown away and the British occupied their land, as the British have a history of doing."

Harry nodded with every word. Even in his own timeline, Tom Riddle had been pushed into leadership by his Death Eaters at first. He had wanted the peaceful, quiet life of a hermit immortal. Then became addicted to war. Destroyed by it, even more than he already was by his own fucked-uppedness.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. Even before your arrival." Tom went on. "And now that I have a rival, in both love and war, that can actually challenge me. I am weirdly elated, and melancholy."

"What about Dumbledore?" Harry asked. "Can't he challenge you in war at least?"

"No." Voldemort said. "He never has. In many ways he helped my effort, feeding the most horrendous of bigots on his side of the conflict to suicide missions against me. He is a very cruel man to those he perceives as evil. His perception is always correct, but still. For a man who claims he believes in second chances he can be rather brutal."

This was news to Harry and he made a mental note to check on this information. He knew full well about the more twisted vigilantes, terrorists and serial killers on both the ministry and anti-Voldemort side. They just never got referred to as such in the history books, and Voldemort tended to make short work of them. It would make sense for Dumbledore to invest a similar amount of effort into combating them as he had the worst amongst Voldemort and would explain why there were so few bad actors on his side by the start of the second war in his timeline.

"There's also the small matter of the fact he's dying." Voldemort went on. "Why the fool would be stupid enough to try and put on my horcrux is beyond me."

Harry stared at the man beside him.

"Wow." Was all Harry could say. "You just casually throw out your greatest secret like that to strangers?"

"Stranger? Please!" Voldemort scoffed. "I am working from the assumption that you know absolutely everything. About my upcoming plans, and my horcruxes, like... how many there are."

Six.

"What they are." tom continued.

Diary, Resurrection Stone, Rowena's Diadem, Slytherin's Locket, Helga's Cup, Nagini.

"What the hell is a Nagini?" Voldemort asked in confusion.

Harry stared at him. He was positive he wasn't thinking out loud that time.

"You have very loud thoughts. I cannot help perceiving them even when not trying to probe your mind." Voldemort told him. "I don't always have the best control of it. But it matters little. I have already arranged for them to be moved and they shall soon be reincorporated into me, as the... wait, resurrection stone?"

"Uh, yeah. The Gaunt family ring? That was the resurrection stone of legend." Harry confirmed.

"From the Tale of the Three Brothers?" He clarified.

"The very same." Harry confirmed.

"... Is that why..."

"Yes. That is why Albus put the damn thing on." Harry confirmed pre-emptively.

They sat there in silence for a moment.

"That fucking moron!" Voldemort said.

"I know!"

Voldemort rubbed his eyes with his free hand. The sheer stupidity of such an action by a man he respected that much must be bringing on an early hangover headache.

"Does it even work?" Tom asked.

Harry let his grin return, knowing full well the megalomaniac was regretting not making use of such a powerful artifact.

"Yes and no." Harry explained.

"Please, do not explain further. I am too far gone to have a conversation on advanced magical theory and how an enchanted object might get around the laws preventing the dead from being brought back from beyond." Tom pleaded. "If I wanted to have that conversation, I'd go visit... other assholes."

Voldemort stood up on unsteady legs and stretched, making ready to go.

"You should know she lied to you." He said, sighing in relief. "About our past together. There at the door a few minutes ago? But I won't say anymore. You probably won't believe me. I wouldn't in your place."

He began walking away.

"Good night, Professor Morrigan. I will most likely kill you next time we see each-other." He said casually.

He stopped a few paces away.

"I do have one question I would like you to answer honestly." Tom pre-empted. "It has been haunting me for a while now."

Harry shrugged.

"Shoot."

"Are you, in fact... my time-traveling son from the future?" He asked.

Harry stared at Voldemort. Voldemort stared back. Harry stared some more.

He then burst out in laughter. So uncontrollable was his laughter that he had to answer between fits of trying to catch his breath.

"Where... in the WORLD... did you get that idea?!" Harry asked.

Voldemort took this as a heartfelt denial and began chuckling with him.

"Dumbledore shared it with me, thinking you and I were conspiring together." Tom explained. "So... you're NOT some Oedipus-complex freak of my loins trying to seduce your mother in that apartment over there?"

"No!" Harry denied venomously.

"Well, that's a load off my mind. I now have even fewer reservations in ripping out your still beating heart and shoving it down your throat next time we meet." Voldemort threatened.

"Yeah, careful about the oncoming traffic you're about to walk into. Hate for you to get pureed by the knight bus and save me the trouble." Harry countered.

And with that, they both apparated away.

---

Notes:​

I made a mistake. Dorea is Harry's great-grandmother not grandmother. Though, the information is conflicted saying Fleamont and Euphemia are his grandparents, looking at the timeline I have concluded that Charlus and Euphemia are, with Fleamont (Inventor of Sleakeazy hair potion) and Dorea(formerly Black) being his GREAT grandparents. Will fix previous chapter shortly.

Edit: OKAY! So Fleamont is the grandfather and Euphemia is the grandmother with Charlus and Dorea being great uncle and aunt. I am SO confused right now. But I'll change it ONE LAST TIME!

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Chapter 30:

Back to Teaching
​

---

"Alright class." Harry said to his little third years. "Today we're getting back on track for the course material. Grab a teacup, today you learn tea leaf reading."

"Awwwwww!" The entire classroom groused as soon as the words left his sea of grumpy, slouching Slytherins and Ravenclaws glared at him in displeasure.

"What? Not fans of tea?" Harry asked rhetorically.

Astoria, still scowling raised her hand.

"Yes, miss Greengrass?" He called on her.

"Professor, this class has been really fun and interesting up until now." She explained. "We've learned so much about divination that none of us have ever heard of before. But we have heard of tea leaf reading and I think I speak for all of us when I say it is not interesting."

The emphatic agreement of her peers added an additional credence to her words. Little Xenophilius added onto the topic without raising his hand, but Harry allowed it.

"And with it being such a beautiful day, possibly the last one of autumn, we were hoping to sit outside and listen to another interesting lecture." The platinum blonde said.

Harry turned to the curtained windows and with a wide wave of his wand raised every single one to let in the view. As the boy had said, sunlight pierced the lazy clouds in sharp rays, illuminating the spots of forest and grass as it pleased. It was likely they wouldn't get a day this warm or lovely for a while. So, he got an idea.

"Everyone, grab a quill and piece of parchment." Harry instructed.

He went to his desk and did the same, inking his quill for the task. The sound of his students rifling through their bags filled his classroom and when he turned around to see them all prepared, he smiled.

"Okay. Who here can draw a simple crescent shape, like this?" He asked. "Show me you can."
Visibly confused, his students complied, each marking their parchment with a single, upside-down crescent shape before lifting it and turning them to face him. Harry made a show of confirming they could, in fact, draw the letter C sideways before continuing.

"Good, now. Using just that shape, draw my general outline." He spread his feet shoulder length apart and arms straight out to the sides like he was making a snow angle.

He held it there for a whole minute and a half as his students, still visibly confused, did as he instructed. When the last of them put their quills down he released the pose and examined their work.
"Alright! Everyone's scraggly sketch definitely looks like a human. Good." He complimented. "Now onto the patios to take a seat."

They filed out onto the patios and Harry took to standing in the middle of the classroom so everybody could hear him. When they were all settled into their seats with their parchment and quills he began his lecture.

"Omen reading." He began. "That is the purpose of tea leaf reading and many other forms of beginner divination. Finding meaning in omens is an art we begin with because it is the easiest and most helpful. By seeing shapes or signs in the randomness of the world."

They all swiveled in their seats to look at him as he lectured.

"Most of the time omens do not serve as portents of the past or future, and certainly aren't sent to you by the fates." He went on, getting to the real meat of the matter. "But as a reflection of your inner turmoil. It is in your interpretation of your omens that you find a path worth taking. Their meanings are vague on purpose, so that you can interpret them to the things you care about and, in the process, discover exactly how much you care about them and make decisions according."

"So... It's psychological?" Derek, the ever-shy Slytherin, asked.

"Most of the time, yes. But there is still magic in it not wholly in your head." Harry explained. "For example, my first ever tea leaf reading was of a large, black, mangy dog. My teacher at the time translated this as the legendary grim, a portent of death. Meanwhile I had actually encountered that dog a few days earlier and he turned out to be very important to both my past and future, but I failed to make that connection due to her poor teachings. Which is why I tell you, don't always take the meaning of the omens in the book too literally, and sometimes you need to take them even more literally. Sometimes the image of a dove carrying a diamond ring can mean to seek peace in your marriage. Other times it can mean a stinking Pidgeon is going to make off with your engagement ring."

They nodded along to his words and even took notes. Several glanced back to their tables and the bookbags sitting beside them.

"Today I want you to put the book out of your mind and hunt for omens... in the clouds." Harry instructed before laughing. "That's right! I'm teaching you cloud-gazing! So, gaze at the clouds and translate any shapes you see onto parchment like you did my general shape. And after class we can go over what they mean. Both in divination, and to you personally if you are comfortable doing so. This can be very private, hence why I would ask you to come to me individually with any questions you have about your omens throughout the week if you need to."

They got straight to work, pens at the ready, staring at the sky. Harry decided to add extra instruction.
"And be sure to label the scratchy sketches with the name of what animal, object or other shape you think the clouds look like. Just in case your drawings are too difficult to make out after the fact." Harry told them.

And the rest of the class passed by in silence. The only sound his students made were the scratching of quill on parchment as they twisted their necks and scrunched their faces in concentration as they tried to find meaning in the randomness of the heavens. That and the light autumn breeze. It was a good day.

When there was only five minutes left in class he called them back inside with the simple instruction to check their books for the meanings of their omens and write them down on the sheets they had been sketching on and to turn those sheets in next week. He dismissed them when the bell rang, knowing that their minds would be full of questions about their omens that they would have to ponder on their own until brave enough to come get clarification from him.

He eagerly awaited their next arrival.

---

"Awwwwwww!" His sixth-year classroom bemoaned at his announcement.

"What? Not fans of crystal balls?" Harry asked rhetorically, holding up one of the offending objects. "You didn't think I'd be teaching you guys to daydream for the whole year, did you?"

"But professor," Draco said, also not bothering to raise his hand. "We've already learned crystal ball gazing."

Ron scoffed from his seat.

"Yeah, learned absolutely nothing." His red-haired friend said. "Three years of learning all about crystal balls, are you going to make us spend a fourth-year learning nothing about them?"

Harry considered taking a point away from both for speaking out of turn but decided it would take away from the lesson he was trying to teach.

"You assume that because your last teacher didn't teach you anything, that there is nothing to learn?" He asked knowingly. "Believe me, I get it. I really do. I've had bad teachers put me off of subjects in the past. From math teachers failing to inform me that algebra and geometry were only two of over sixty distinct fields of mathematics, to having a poor excuse of a divination professor myself. But let me tell you, there is plenty to learn about crystal ball gazing and everybody here has the ability to do so."

Lavender tentatively raised her hand.

"One point to Gryffindor for raising your hand before speaking." Harry said cheekily. "Yes, miss Brown?"

"Sir, Professor Trelawney told us repeatedly, religiously, that only those born with the sight can become skilled in divination." She squeaked.

Harry groaned and closed his eyes. He silently counted down from ten and resisted the urge to bang his fist on his desk. He still made the motion though.

"I am very displeased with your last teacher in this subject." Harry said truthfully. "That is almost a complete lie. Unless you're misquoting her and she said those without the right temperament cannot divine? That is true, but a nonissue as temperament can be changed."

Lavender made a comical look upwards as if trying to peer into her own skull to try and retrieve the memory of exactly what that woman said. Other students were doing the same.

"She may have said both of those things at... Oh!" Hermione stopped herself and raised her hand after noticing the look Harry was giving her.

"Yes, miss Granger?" He called on her.

"I think she may have said both of those things but might have meant them interchangeably to be the latter." Hermione said. "Could you clarify the difference?"

Harry nodded with a kindly smile.

"Of course! Somebody who goes on a fishing trip expecting to be bored, gets his wish." Harry explained. "And one who goes on a fishing trip expecting to have a fun or relaxing time, also gets his wish. The same is true for most divination. You have to come into it believing it is at least possible. Which is a ridiculous thing to say to a room of youth who have spent years doing the impossible with magic. Impossible is a word that should not be in any of your vocabulary."

Cho raised her hand.

"Yes, miss Chang?" He called.

"What do you mean by most fields of divination? Are there some that require a talent?" She asked.

"Yes. Yes there are." Harry answered. "Now, onto crystal ball gazing."

More groaning, but this time it was in surrender. Their attempts at derailing the class had ultimately failed and they knew he was onto them. Good.

"What did you learn about it from Trelawney?" He asked.

Lots of hand in the air after that one.

"Yes, Veir, vur... you." Harry called on the eastern European boy.

He glowered at Harry as the other students snickered.

"She said to clear your mind and gaze into the orb." He answered. "And nothing else."

"And let me guess, she expected you to know how to clear your mind and translate what you saw in the orbs." He clarified. "Only for you not to see anything at all because she failed to teach you how to clear your minds first?"

They all nodded.

"Well! Guess what I've been teaching you to do these last two weeks?" Harry asked rhetorically. "You didn't think I was having you stare off into space and ponder your dreams for nothing did you? That was you learning how to clear your mind. Now. Clear your mind and ponder your crystal balls."

The series of groans and several immature snickers followed his orders. Yet all the same, they marched to the front of the class and took a crystal ball each from the large box of them and a stand for it from the pile on his desk.

He waited for them all to get settled with their balls firmly held in the ring-like stands on their tables before continuing.

"Now. I know you've all learned how to read omens in teacups." He said. "To start with, you can also do that with crystal balls. Making out shapes like the gunk of tea leaves in a cup and interpreting them. But seeing visions in the orb is the goal. Now! This will not take the form you might be imagining."
Checking to make sure his students were paying attention he went on.

"It is not like a television, where a movie will play inside of the crystal ball that only you can see. It will instead be like a vivid daydream." He explained. "Who here has ever stared off into space and had a day dream where it was like having an actual dream? Scenarios playing out in your head?"

Everyone raised their hand.

"Good. It should be exactly like that. Most teachers will tell you to be careful not to confuse it with your imagination getting away from you, but I say otherwise." He said. "Clear your mind as I have taught you, stare into the orb and wait for the daydream to hit you. Let it play out then write it down. Or snap out of it if you notice a distinct shape, or omen, and write that down."

No groans this time, just a few huffs of annoyance and grumpy glowering at the offending spheres. Hermione was especially loud with hers.

"What's the matter, Granger?" Ron joked. "Not like it's going to blow up in your face or something."
Harry opened his mouth to tell them all to settle down and get started, then he processed the words and who they came from and blanched.

"Miss Granger?" he said. "Please come up to the front and sit at my desk with me."

He did not wait for her to answer, conjuring a chair on the side of his desk for her to plop down on and taking his seat behind it as well. Thinking better of things he made an exception for everyone.

"You can all sit down for this class." He told them and cast a classroom-wide verdimilius to make the chairs that were already there, but hidden, reappear.

They all made some noise of relief or another, none being fans of his standing during class policy, while Hermione made her way to the seat beside him, bringing with her the crystal ball and stand. She set up on the edge of his desk and Harry, still standing, got to work filling out financial statements for the sanctuary. Now seemed like a great time to let the quiet of class inspire him to get some not-so-fun work done.

It was mostly just a report on what supplies were used and would need replacing. That part he had already done, all that was left was to calculate the cost of it all and send it in as a requisition form to the bank. The potion ingredients really were up there in terms of price and would remain so until he found a plot for growing his own. Hopefully it would only take the weekend.

He must have been way too engrossed to it, because he didn't feel the high energy in the air until the spell flew.

With one hand he erected a physical barrier of granite between Hermione and her crystal ball, with the other a wall-sized protego between Draco and Sean Finnegan. The stunner from the older Finnegan fizzled against his protego, but an unidentifiable hex flew across his desk and shattered the crystal ball into large, sharp chunks of glass. They bounced harmlessly against the granite barrier he summoned but thank merlin he had or else she would have spent the week in the hospital wing.

"That will be detention. Malfoy. Finnegan." Harry said with a dangerous edge to his tone. "And twenty-five points each, from Gryffindor and Slytherin. Class is dismissed. Weasley. Granger. Stay."

Visible confusion at being dismissed twenty minutes early met his command, but his own visible anger kept any objections or questions silent. What few there were among students who would usually be elated to get let out of class early.

He waited for them to slowly file out, watching Draco and Sean in particular. He probably looked like he was glaring at them. Scratch that, he was glaring at them.

When the last of them filed out Ron made his way to the front of the room to stand next to Hermione, who was still hidden from his vision by the floating granite block. He canceled the conjuration to reveal the frizzy haired girl sitting patiently and demurely with her hands in her lap.

She still looked a little shellshocked and wide eyed.

"So. Are you both okay?" he asked.

Hermione quietly nodded, but Ron just looked at him in confusion.

"Why wouldn't I be okay? She was the one who was almost hospitalized." He pointed out.

"And why was she almost hospitalized?" Harry asked. "What almost hurt her."

Hermione caught on first.

"My crystal ball blew up. In my face." She said, giving Ron a scathing look.

Ron blinked at the scathing look.

"You're not saying I did that, are you?" He asked.

"No. You predicted it." Harry told him. "You have a rare form of the sight called ironic foresight. Today it decided to make itself more obvious that usual for some reason."

That some reason being the fates fucking with him for not telling Ron when he should have. They just wouldn't allow him to have his fun, would they?

"But this is the first time something like that has happened." Ron said.

"First time it's happened so fast." Harry corrected. "I am positive you have made jokes in the past that came true, but usually months or even years later. Or at least, you don't find out until years later.
"He has." Said Hermione.

Harry looked at her.

"He joked about me and a boy that was already true." She said. "And he had no way of knowing."
"What boy did I ever tease you about?" Ron asked. "Malfoy?!"

"No!" Hermione yelled with a disgusted face.

"Stop." Harry interrupted. "She is speaking vaguely on purpose to keep her secrets from us. Now. You have the sight. Hermione, a sceptic among sceptics, can see it. And I, a divination professor, am telling you that it is so. Why do you not believe it?"

The young man looked away and seemed unsure of himself.

"I am offering you private tutoring to nurture this gift. But I suppose you need convincing. Fortunately I have the tools necessary to convince you." Harry told him.

And with that, he reached under his desk and retrieved the pensieve Dumbledore had agreed to loan him.

"Now. Let's go down memory lane, shall we?"

---

Voldemort appeared at the edge of the forest where four of his Death Eaters stood waiting for him. Each garbed in black robes and donning silver, skull masks. As they always had.

They stood facing away from him, gazing into the forest. He marched up to stand in the middle of them. With two on his left and two on his right he felt invincible. They always made him feel invincible.

"Lucius. Amycus." Voldemort commanded. "If this goes well, I will rely on you two and the rest may leave. If it does not, then you must go."

"My Lord?" Lucius asked, confused.

"You have other responsibilities than to me." Voldemort told them. "And if this goes badly you cannot be involved in what will happen."

"Are you referring to our involvement in Morrigan's Werewolf sanctuary?" Amycus asked.

"Indeed. You both do wonderful deeds by him. And I won't allow you to poison your philanthropy with such an atrocious conflict of interest." Voldemort told them. "Don't worry. I have Crabbe and Goyle. If their sons are good enough to guard your son, they're good enough to guard me."

Lucius and Amycus bowed in deference to his orders and reasoning.

Voldemort marched into the woods, his four followers hanging behind. He did not walk long, the humanoid shapes stealthily skirting between trees signaled he was in the right place. He noted their reflective eyes and soundless padding along.

The full moon was long gone now but their bestial nature was still in control. Just as Fenrir trained them. An oversight Voldemort was here to correct.

"Let him through." Fenrir's snarl rang through the forests.

His minders immediately vanished from his peripheral vision, back into hiding so perfectly even he couldn't have noticed them if they hadn't already revealed their presence.

A few more paces and he broke into a clearing, interrupting a feast. A feast of raw meat and bonemeal. Not human, thankfully. It smelled more of pork than the sweetness of human corpses he had become so familiar with in his warring.

"My lord." Fenrir greeted, kneeling deeply.

His fellow werewolves, nearly a hundred in number, imitated him.

Voldemort merely glanced over them and their feast. A long, conjured table with no chairs covered in poorly butchered meat. He spotted the several pig snouts and confirmed his optimistic conclusion. Then there was the state of Fenrir and his followers. Decerped, malnourished from a diet of raw meat, and clothed in rags. None had bathed in months by the smell and likely not had a proper meal, with vegetables and grain, in years.

These were his followers? Surely not. How could he have been so derelict in his duties to those that put their faith him as to allow Fenrir and his troops to fall to such lows?

"You need never bow to me Fenrir." Voldemort said, sadly. "Rise. All of you."

They obeyed. Standing, some even at attention, to the dark lord that stood there in friendship. Their confusion was understandable.

"I have wronged you Fenrir." Voldemort said. "And I have come here today to right that wrong."

"My lord?" Fenrir asked in uncertainty, mirroring Lucius' earlier worry.

"It's Tom, to you." Voldemort corrected.

Fenrir actually flinched at the name. A name neither had said in decades.

"It has always been just Tom for you, my last living friend." He told him. "You whose secret I kept when we were mere schoolboys, and who kept all of mine. And yet, look at how I have repaid you!"

He raised his arms and waved to indicate the decerped way they lived. The sleeping bags laid on plain dirt and autumn leaves. The filthy rags upon their bodies.

"But my lord..."

Voldemort glared.

"Tom. When have you ever done anything to wrong me? You have given me everything I , we, ever wanted and more." Fenrir pleaded. "I wanted blood, you gave me blood. The blood of all those who wronged us."

"Yes. I sicked you on every anti-werewolf legislator I could find, a pack of assassins that struck fear and disgust into enemies that would wrong us." Voldemort said. "And this too was wrong."

Fenrir looked at him, actually looked at him, and blinked. The miniscule pieces of humanity still within him were churning like gears, processing what Voldemort was saying.

"Are you.. dissatisfied with out work?" He pleaded.

"No." Voldemort said, closing his eyes and shaking his head solemnly. A practiced motion. "You have been my most loyal friend and most effective soldier. But I have been a poor leader to you. I didn't help you."

More of that lost humanity was returning to his eyes and posture as Voldemort spoke. Good. He wasn't so sure there was enough left to dig out before coming here based on reports. Reports he had not believed. Reports he had chalked up to anti-werewolf exaggeration and propaganda. He could see he was wrong to do so now.

"What happened to the Greyback who went to school with us fifty years ago?" Voldemort asked. "The most handsome and charming of us all, with a voice like silk and scotch, who could charm the skirt off of any lady in school, teacher or student. And had."

Fenrir snorted in amusement. Memories of their young charms teacher, Ms Pledge, must have been a warm memory indeed.

"You who dressed the best of us, and for a time, fought better than the rest of us in our weekend dueling pit. You made me into the fighter I am today and convinced Abraxas to give the Mudblood parselmouth a chance? To take me under his wing and make a gentleman out of me." Voldemort begged. "What would that man think of the beast you have become?"

He was getting through to the man beast. He watched as Fenrir looked down at himself. At his clawed hands. At the wild locks of hair that now covered his body. A body barely hidden by burlap pants and a too large cloak that had seen better days.

"You were a sick man, a hurt man, and I fed into that hurt. I turned you into a weapon instead of the great man you were meant to be. And I am here to fix that. Lucius is outside, willing and ready to spend every penny of his fortune on your legal defense and rehabilitation. The views towards werewolves have improved, and nobody would deny your insanity deal. Morrigan's werewolf sanctuary can help you. Mungos can heal you. All of you."

The light and intelligence in his friend's eyes vanished. His smile and nostalgia vanished from his face. The deference and friendliness in his posture replaced by rigid aggression.

"You're firing me?" He snarled.

"No!" Tom said.

"HE'S FIRING US!" Fenrir roared.

"NO!" Tom begged, but it was too late.

The dozens of werewolves in the clearing were already back on all fours, making to pounce like animals. A dozen more had enough humanity to withdraw their wands. Fenrir? He was...transforming... During a waning moon. His teeth extended, his hands and claws lengthened and his hair became just that much wilder. The beginnings of a snout jutted from his face with the elongated fangs. But that was as far as his transformation went.

The prodigal fighter of his generation, the once-brilliant werewolf, had discovered a method for partially transforming without a full moon? Of course he had. Many fools had underestimated this man and died for it, but Tom knew better. He mentally called upon the dark mark, send the burning twinge to the four outside.

He felt Lucius and Amycus vanish from his immediate control by the dark mark, and the forest erupted in fire. A great ring of licking flames encircled the clearing he was in and the poor creatures they now had a responsibility to put down. When he felt the anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards fall around him he knew Crabbe and Goyle were earning their titles today.

"I am sorry Fenrir. I have failed you." Tom said sadly. "I could not save you. But I can end your suffering."

"Fuck. You. Tom." Fenrir snarled monosyllabically as he too crouched down to all fours.

Taking a deep breath and fighting the single tear his healing soul demanded he shed for his last friend, he readied to fight.

Some unnamable werewolf on the left cast a paltry exploding hex at him with no follow-up. Many of the other wand-waving peons in the clearing did the same, mostly targeting the fires now surrounding them, but Tom focused on this one.

With a perfectly accurate extension of his arm Tom caught the dark orange hex with the tip of his wand and shuddered the distance towards the young man, appearing before him instantly and at every point in between all at once. With the explosive hex still at the tip of his wand, Tom grasped him by the top of his head with his free hand and cast a forked lightning charm. With the man's explosive hex on the tip as he cast the two formed a dangerous union and the eight arcs of yellow lightning pushed through it as if focused through a lens, taking on an orange hue.

Every one of the feral men and women struck by the arcs of electricity suffered a nasty case of exploding body parts where they struck. Two were fortunate to lose an arm or a leg, the rest had holes the sized of bludgers punched into their chest, stomach, groan. Two lost their heads. Three arcs completely missed, taking out one of the flaming trees and digging two nice craters into the ground. The rubble and force, not to mention viscera, of the combo spell sent the remaining dozen or so werewolves on this side of the clearing diving for cover, three unfortunately did so directly in the path of the falling tree.

Tom brought the now weaker explosive hex at the tip of his wand to the throat of the man he held in his left hand. It wasn't quite as spectacular of a gore show as the explosive lightning combination, but those arteries and windpipe were very much destroyed.

Colorless piercing and cutting hexes rained into the clearing from beyond the fires where Crabbe and Goyle were now picking off Fenrir's underlings. Speaking of Fenrir.

"Aaaargh!" The man beast roared as he bared down on Tom with a clawed hand like an axe.

Tom sidestepped it with ease and shuddered away to the opposite end of the clearing, before listening with his mind for the incantations of his enemies.

Glacia sylendria. Stupify. Percusio.

He heard the incantations in the heads of his enemies as they tried to silently cast. It was useful to be able to cast a spell without an enemy hearing what it was. For most enemies it worked. But when you utter it in your head, a man like Tom could still hear it.

He shuddered out of the way of the stunner and piercer, flying into the path of the freezing curse variant. It was a kind that shot like a projectile to freeze the target it hit instead of being a cold whirlwind like most glacia variants. Capturing that with his wand he waved it over his head in a large arc as if to invite everyone to fire at him, but with only one arc to his lawn cutting charm he let it loose, combining it with the glacia charm as he did so.

The charm cut down every single one of them at the ankles. They fell from the already frostbitten stubs at the end of their legs to the ground. Still alive, but out of the way so he could focus on Fenrir, who was still charging at him.

Okay. No more running. No more magic. He re-holstered his wand and charged at the rampaging beast he had once called friend. He would not dishonor him by fighting with fire or silver. He would fight with claws? Tom would fight with fists.

Bite. Shoulder - came the simpler thoughts of the half-transformed man. And so, Tom baited him into making the lunge and, knowing it was coming, ducked beneath the lunge and around his side.
Fenrir tumbled from the lack of a body to strike but slid to a stop and charged back towards him without skipping a beat. Tom merely put his fists up.

Claw to throat. Stab through chest. Bite at face.

Tom leaned back to avoid the first claw, sidestepped to avoid the second meant to impale him, and thrust his entire body forward to bring his forehead slamming against Fenrir's snout before he could open his jaws.

Fenrir yelped in pain and staggered away clutching at his face. Tom pursued with a haymaker to the back of his head and neck that struck true, staggering him to the ground. He did stay there long ,striking back with a two-clawed bear hug that tom hadn't heard coming. It still dodged it and gave Fenrir a good one-two to the stomach and vaulting beneath his legs before he could slash down at him.

As Fenrir turned around to advance on him again Tom wandlessly summoned the long, miraculously intact and unmolested, table towards them both. It shattered against his back and sent him flying towards Tom. Tom brough his knee up with all his might, connecting with the werewolf's jaw with a nice crack.

For a split second Tom thought the crack might have been his knee, but the high-pitched and uncomfortably dog-like yelp of the now fetal werewolf told him otherwise. And when he didn't get back up, but instead reverted back into being fully human, Tom put his fists down and knew the fight was over.

Looking around he noted the remaining werewolves were dead too. Crabbe and Goyle had picked them off while he wasn't looking.

"I'm s-s-s-soo sorry." A sniffling, weeping voice rose up from the broken man beneath him. "I tried Tom. I r-really did."

Tom withdrew his wand and kneeled beside greyback.

"Me too." He said, putting a hand on Greyback's shoulder and turning him over.

He looked abut the bloodied nose, shattered jaw and tear-stained face of his friend.

"I tried to be better. W-wha-why couldn't I be who I used to be? Why couldn't I b-be more that what I am?" He pleaded in broken speech.

"Because none of us could." Tom answered without hesitation. "Despite how much we tried. We were broken then too, like the world we had no hope of fixing."

The fires around them were extinguished down to the last ember and all of a sudden they were in pitch blackness. But moments later light returned, and Tom could see reflected in Fenrir's eyes the great streak of stars that could only be seen this far from the light pollution of the cities. Tom looked up too and marveled at the Milkyway with his friends.

What a beautiful sight to die to.

"What will I tell them?" Fenrir asked.

Tom looked at him questioningly, surreptitiously casting a diagnostic charm on his chest.

"Abraxas. Mulciber. Avery..." He clarified. "They and the rest were still men when they died. With wives, families and their dreams still alive. I am none of those things. I have none of those things."

"You tell them the truth." Tom told him. "You tell them that you too were a man again when you died. That in your last moments you remembered and were with someone who carried on your dreams along with theirs."

Fenrir tried to turn his neck despite his shoulders and ribs being shattered from the table. Before he could say another word Tom cast the killing curse, severing his once beautiful soul from his accursed, diseased and broken body. He let out a long breath as his head fell motionless to the ground. Tom knew that it was just the remaining air in his lungs being forced out but couldn't help feeling as if it sounded like all of the worries, suffering and stress of his life being let go at long last with a relaxing sigh.

He had been so tired in the end. Tired of every door being shut on him. Tired of being forced out of his studies despite being such a genius, his mind left to waste as a laborer and warrior as his disease ate at him. As he came to believe what other people believed about him. That he was nothing more than a beast. And he became it.

"That's it then." He heard Crabbe's voice as he entered the clearing. "The last of the Knights of Walpurgis is gone."

"One, ehem." Tom tried to say but cleared his throat when his voice came out broken with emotion. "One remains."

Crabbe looked at him, but it took Goyle's hand on his shoulder for him to understand.

"And the last knight would like to be alone... please." He pleaded.

They vanished without so much as a nod or verbal confirmation. Loyal friends, just like their fathers. Just like Fenrir.

He gazed down at the man. At his first friend. For the thousandth time he allowed himself to fall into delusions, to imagine a world in which the wolvesbane potion had been invented thirty years earlier than it had. Of the life Fenrir could have, should have, been afforded. It had been so long since he'd thought about these things. Of his friends. Of the other knights and their dreams of a better world.
Each of them had given themselves a mission, a singular goal by which their oath bound them to pursue in religious zeal. For Abraxas, it was to undo the hold foreign lobbyists and interest groups had over the Ministry of Magic. For Macnair, it was to fight the cruelty done to magical beasts and to see them free in the wild once more. And for Fenrir, it was to lead werewolves into their own separate nations.

They had, all of them, failed. And more despicably, passed down their missions to their sons. They had trusted Tom to help lead them, and like his peers, he had failed. Now all of those hopes and dreams and regrets were his alone. There were none left to help him shoulder them.

Seeing the state of Fenrir's corpse Tom put him into a more comfortable position. After crossing his arms over his chest and straightening his back, hips and legs, the man almost looked to be sleeping. A quick episkey to straighten the bones of his jaw and cartilage of his nose made the illusion complete, save for the blood on Fenrir's face. Voldemort wiped that away with his bare hand.

He looked at the life-giving liquid in the moon and star light, and raised it to the sky.

"This war will end." Voldemort swore to the heavens. "Within a year's time all of this rage, stupidity and sadness will be done and the sun will rise on a world without the corruption we hoped to root out, without the rapists and murderers and thieves we hunted down, and without me. Teh corruption and lunacy of the ICW will end. I swear it. For you, my friends. Always for you."

He lowered his blood-stained fist and breathed in the night air, smelling less of smoke by the moment.
"Just... take care of him when he arrives, okay fellas? He's been through a lot." He whispered to them as an afterthought before turning back on the corpse.

There was only one thing left to do.

Kneeling down beside Fenrir for the last time he reached into the dead man's robes, the robes he had once given him, and felt his fists close around a small, leather box barely larger than his hand. He pulled his hand back to look at the nondescript case he had trusted Fenrir with so long ago. And he had been right to do so, for he had kept it safe on his person for all of these years.

He sat down beside the serene figure and held the box with both hands, anticipating the pain to come. Pain on top of the pain he was already feeling. Pain and healing made possible by the pain he was feeling. Remorse was the only ingredient needed to stitch this piece of his soul back into its home.

And so, when he opened the lid he didn't even have to touch the little golden goblet of Helga Hufflepuff for the healing to begin. And he screamed for the entirety of the night.

---

Notes:​

Now you've met Voldemort. The real Voldemort. These are his powers
.
Legilimancy capable of sussing out the spells and intentions of many dozens of people at once. Particularly mental spell incantations. In order to cast spells silently people still say the incantations in their head, he can hear that and act accordingly before his enemy finishes casting. This is his direct parallel to Harry's telemetric ability. He cannot feel emotions, but can hear the thoughts of nearly everybody, with the exception of people like Dumbledore, Snape and Harry.

His second great ability is spell capture and combination. Similar to how in Goblet of fire the video game players could combine spells. Different spells when cast together by different people can have combined, amplified or unexpected results. Tom Riddle is a MASTER of this. He can either combine his enemies spells together by capturing two or three at a time or by capturing one and casting his own spell in conjunction with it. Or simply throw it right back into your face.

Aside from that he has the ability to Shudder. It's an ability similar to apparition. Think of Lord Marshal from Chronicles of Riddic.

Combine with all the above fifty years of combat training, studying the higher magics and dark magic in particular, and you have a formidable enemy indeed.

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Chapter 31:

Ranker Speculations​

---

Voldemort picked himself off the ground with a groan. The dry autumn leaves crunched almost as loudly as his joints.

He couldn't remember the last time he felt this old, and boy did he feel old. Seventy years on this earth, and only now did he feel every single one of them. He hadn't felt them last year. He hadn't felt them last month. He hadn't even felt them yesterday. But he felt them now.

More importantly, he remembered them.

"Damnit Fenrir." He cursed the corpse beside him. "And I thought you were the neglected one. How did none of you see that I wasn't okay either?"

The corpse of his friend did not answer, but Tom didn't need him to.

Yesterday he hadn't remembered that time he, Avery and Fenrir had snuck out on Thestrals to visit Calvary's grave, only to pass out on firewhiskey. Horcuxes weren't supposed to take memories with them into their new vessels, but he should have known better. He knew how entwined the soul was to the body and the mind. How one's soul is a reflection of one's thoughts and one's feelings.

A man is the sum total of his thoughts. You are what you think about. Or you are the sum total of your actions, you are what you do. Both philosophies are true, especially in regard to magic, and yet everyone seemed to have forgotten that with age. The horcruxes had not taken his memories. Just prevented him from thinking on them. Broken connections of memories. Since he had not been able to dwell on them, he had not been whole.

He still wasn't whole. He still had three more to incorporate back into himself.

That the time traveler was allowing him to do so instead of hunting them down and destroying them worried him immensely. How could he possibly know what they were if he had reabsorbed them in his timeline as well? Unless he hadn't? Had the boy hunted them down and destroyed them originally, and somehow manipulated events so that he would reabsorb them in this timeline?

Why would anybody do that? If destroying Voldemort was his goal, then with knowledge of their locations and protections he could have easily destroyed them all by now. It would have been a much more direct and effective path than... this.

The only motivation for doing so was if Hadrian wanted to save him. And that made no sense outside of Dumbledore's theory that the boy was his son. Maybe an apprentice? A successor? It would explain how powerful the young man was, and his knowledge of things he ought not to know of. It would also open the possibility of him having reabsorbed his horcruxes in the future, and Hadrian was simply speeding the process along... somehow.

The only other possible reason for trying to save him was if a much greater threat lay in the future that would require a true Dark Lord to help fight off. There was a very short list of such threats he could think of. Chiefly among them was a full-blown demonic incursion straight from hell or a world war between Muggles and Wizards. And if either of those were the case, he definitely needed to get his affairs in order. And fast.

He also really needed to schedule another meeting on neutral ground with Albus. His suspicions, chiefly that Hadrian was his apprentice from the future and he was here to prepare them for an apocalyptic scenario, was one he had to share with the dying man so he could also set things into motion.

Still, with all of these conclusions in his mind he couldn't help feeling rage and envy towards the young man. In a few short months of arriving in the past he had already accomplished all of Voldemort's failed dreams. He had the love of his life hanging off of his arm and a vaunted position as teacher at Hogwarts. The two goals he was never close to achieving. It was almost as if his apprentice was showing him up.

He stood up fully, groaning like a pitiful retirement home patient all the while, before surveying the carnage he had wrought the night before.

The hundred or so corpses around him testified just as loudly to his failures as a leader as the one at his feet. His was the only name he knew, the rest were nobodies, but shouldn't have been. He had been telling the truth to Hadrian when he said that seeing him work the way he worked and succeed as he had made Voldemort rethink his tactics. Terror, economic warfare and assassination had achieved little, and only after decades. Whereas Hadrian had achieved so much in only months. And here he was with the cost of his incremental gains.

Sunken cost fallacy would have him double down on his tactics, but instead he had opted for a rather violent form of 'corporate restructuring', as Narcissa had called it. Between her punching him for sending assassins after a rival and opting to cut off a dead branch of his order, he was wondering if she had forgotten that he was "the motherfucking dark lord", despite him reminding her - in those exact terms - that he was, indeed, the motherfucking dark lord.

There was still violence to be done, but the restructuring would have to take priority for now.

"Wait." He said to himself as his senses caught up to his waking state.

He sniffed at the air, and upon tasting no hint of rotting flesh or vacated bowels, he knew something was wrong. He withdrew his wand and cast a simple spell identification charm on the nearest corpse, aside from Fenrir, and balked at the result. Somebody, or multiple persons, had come through while he was unconscious and vanished the vacated matter from the corpses in the clearing, only to follow it up with air freshening charms and cooling charms on the corpses.

He could only laugh at the implications.

Had Crabbe, Goyle, Lucius and Amycus really come back to check up on him and make him comfortable in his unconsciousness? Of course they had. Disobedient little shits though they might be, they were loyal servants. Good servants.

Good friends. All of them. Better than he deserved. A lot better than he deserved.

He collected himself and caught his breath from the laughter. His usual worries about being seen in such a state of weakness not even an afterthought to his new frame of mind. He had much more pressing issues. Such as, what to do with all of these bodies?

He could leave them here to be found by the German authorities, but that would leave said authorities and the press to release pure conjecture about the events that transpired here. With the international coverage of Morrigan's sanctuary they would likely conclude he was making a poignant statement in opposition to his charity and the goals thereof. This, he did not want. Alternatively, he could immolate or bury the corpses for none to find, but that would lead to much more histrionic conjecture and fearmongering, the terrified worries about where Fenrir's clan was holding out and amassing strength for a horrific attack. This, he also did not want.

What should he do? He knew what he would have done just days or weeks earlier, but those tactics were a thing of the past. He was now trying to see things from a new perspective, he was now trying to emulate Morrigan's modus operandi. The master learning from the apprentice what he would inevitably teach him in time.

What should he do? A simple question whose answer was another simple question. What was the right thing to do?

He rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

---

Harry nodded in satisfaction as the alarm went off, indicating that he was done watching Draco and Sean paint his classroom.

"Alright, I think my walls are sufficiently decorated." Harry said, stopping the two boys.

They groaned in relief as they lowered their arms and the thick brushes they had been painting his walls with. They were bamboo calligraphy brushes, and with them these two boys had covered his entire room with the words "I shall not fight in class." It now looked like the walls of a mental asylum patient. He was very tempted to get red ink and add "Connect the cuts!" in big, bold letters just to screw with people, but that was a bit too far even for him. And most of these uncultured children wouldn't get the reference anyways.

"Now. What does my wall say?" Harry asked the two boys.

Draco scowled and glared at the words on the wall.

"I shall not fight in class." Sean answered in a deadpan.

"Good, mister Finnegan." Harry said condescendingly. "So long as you and Draco keep this message in mind, you ought to avoid detention with me in the future."

Draco stared hard at the words.

"The phrasing seems to insinuate that you don't care if we fight outside of your classroom." The Slytherin said.

"I don't." Harry said flippantly. "Not only can I not stop you from doing so, it also is not my problem. It's Pomfrey and Grey's problem. Did I just give you permission to fight in the halls?!"

The two boys shook their heads no at his demand.

"No. No, I did not. And if I catch you doing so, it'll be a much more severe detention." He warned. "Now run along."

They left through the staircase as opposed to the ladder and Harry returned to the seat at his desk with a sigh. Another week of teaching these upstarts down, a few dozen more to go. But Friday was finally here and in a few short hours he would be having tea with some old ladies and relaxing.

"Professor?" A tiny voice called from the stairway.

Harry swiveled in his chair to see none other than Xeonophilius Lovegood, junior, standing in his doorway. He was cutting it a little close, waiting until the last minute possible to come to him before he closed shop for the weekend, as all students knew he would.

"Come in, mister Lovegood." Harry beckoned.

The miniscule Ravenclaw approached his desk and daintily placed onto it a simple potions vial. A sampler one, like a blood-draw tube, not a large one you could quaff down. Inside was a familiar swirling mass of silvery mist.

"A dream?" Harry asked.

Xenophilius nodded.

"Excellent! That would make you the first to share one with me. Let's give it a looksie." Harry said as kindly as possible.

Hoping it wouldn't be a particularly long dream as he did have an appointment to keep.

He reached under his desk and withdrew the lidded pensieve before placing it on the table. Snatching up the vial with one hand and lifting the lid of the pensieve with the other, he uncorked it and began pouring the memory into the stone bowl.

"You need only touch the liquid's surface." Harry instructed.

The boy obliged and Harry followed him into the pensieve without hesitation. The world around them reformed from liquid inks in the abyss of the pensieve and Harry found himself in a very yellow place.
It was a desert. One filled with rolling hills and short mountains as far as the eye could see, each pockmarked with tufts of green grass and trees juxtaposed to the yellowed sands and brown rocks. It was a very lovely, if somewhat windy, place. And for the life of him Harry had no idea where it was, nor who the people around them were.

"Whoa." He said in surprise at the multitude of naked Veela.

They did not look as modern Veela do, but that is what these creatures were. The scaled feet with razor sharp talons jutting from every toe, and hands to match, are not features modern Veela sported, but were elegant on these ones all the same. Nor did modern Veela have downward facing wings on their backs like a drooping angel, but these ones did. And the largest, eldest of them, flanked on both sides by her screech owls and pet lions was one with completely braided hair put up into a conch shell formation. She was enormous, easily mistaken for a full-blooded giant, towering over all of her daughters.

She looked EXACTLY like her statues. As did the man kneeling before her.

"I wasn't sure about sharing it." Xenophilius said. "It seemed... inappropriate."

"It is not." Harry told the boy. "These were days when the body was not covered out of shame. Now let me listen."

The kneeling man spoke, but his words were unknown to Harry. Not only was the language he spoke completely lost to time, but the normal muffling and incoherence of language dream speak was famous for made it even less intelligible. As he spoke Ishtar plucked from the ground one of her maned lions. They were all male and maned, but of a breed unlike any lion Harry had seen before, likely long-since extinct like the European lions. She cradled it in her arms like a kitten- yes, she was that big - and patted it while seemingly in deep thought at the man's words.

Her daughters, all taller than the man but not ridiculously so, watched the man and whispered between themselves between the occasional fit of giggles. They were a diverse group of daughters, with as many different hair and eye colors as the literal wagonful of bouquets and textiles the man had presented as offering. As far as Harry could tell none of them shared a father. Ishtar had been a bit of a man-eater, and proudly so. Those were different times, prior to Hera inventing marriage in its modern form to tame men and women alike.

The man finished pleading his case to the mother Veela and she stared at him in silence, raking her claws through the lions mane as she did so.

She eventually spoke. As before the words meant nothing to Harry, but they must have meant a great deal to the kneeling man by the downcast look of defeat he adopted as she spoke them. Eventually she gave a dramatic pause and said a word that - even across the millennia of language barriers - Harry understood to mean "however" followed by a substitutional offer. One that made the bearded man blanch in a mix of terror and awe.

When he spoke this time Harry understood him.

"Nehushtan. Mother says to come with me. Come, let us crush my enemies and make me king of all things as I was meant to be." He said commandingly in seemingly perfect English.

The mountain of copper behind her rose like a twisting column of metal treads. It coiled in on itself to reveal the glistening copper scales and golden plumage of a great feathered serpent glittering in the sunlight like a death ray. The much greater reflections when it spread its two wings and raised its head blinded Harry with the refleced light of the sun and a moment later, he felt the familiar tug of a memory ending and he found himself returned to his classroom.

"Wow." Said Harry. "I know a lot of history and archeology nerds who are going to LOVE this!"

"So... You know who and what those were?" Xenophilius asked. "The giantess, the harem, the man and the snake?"

Harry smiled at the boy.

"Mister Lovegood, the man you saw in that dream was none other than Sargon of Akkad. The giantess he met with was the "goddess" Ishtar, and that was no harem, but the totality of her Veela daughters. The serpent was unknown to me though." He explained honestly.

"Sargon of what now?" Xenophilius asked. "Wait Veela?! Those didn't look like Veela!"

Harry looked at the boy, genuinely surprised he didn't know this history.

"Sargon of Akkad was a great king in ancient Mesopotamia, a great and powerful wizard of ancient times." Harry explained. "And Veela did not always look as they do now, and in fact had many varieties in those days. Just as there are fishlike mermaids, dolphin-like mermaids, sharklike mermaids, jellyfishlike mermaids and squidlike mermaids."

He paused while the boy withdrew parchment and quill to take notes. Harry knew what the boy was going to be researching in the library that weekend.

"One breed of Veela was known as the Liliths, or screeching owls, and looked like that. There used to be as many different types of Veela as there are people. Valkyries, liliths, sirens and more. Most were wiped out. The Veela you know today were, ehem, "selectively bred" from the different types that were enslaved. Sirens could only infatuate by singing while transformed, but the Greek Olympians - wizards and witches, by the way - took them and mixed them over generations into the nymphs of mythology, and they've remained like that ever since."

The boy made a disgusted face.

"That's terrible." Xenophilius said.

"Indeed." Harry said simply.

"So, this Sargon guy was friends with the Veela?" He asked.

Harry could only stare at the boy.

"You've not been told the epic of Sargon of Akkad? The king who united Mesopotamia? Raised by Veela, the lilithic daughters of Ishtar, after they rescued him from his mother after she tried to "set him adrift in a on a river."? What are they teaching you in history of magic?" He asked aghast. "He wasn't friends of the Veela, he was the son and brother to Veela."

The kid didn't even shrug, but just got more inquisitive.

"He was set adrift down the river?" He asked. "Like Moses?"

Harry cringed at the innocence at which the boy asked the horrific question. He needed to measure his next words carefully or risk getting very angry letters from Xeno senior and his drop-dead gorgeous wife that he still wasn't crushing on. Or worse, risk turning Xeno junior to a future Voldemort follower.

"Yes, like Moses, but sending babies adrift on the river is a euphemism. " Harry explained. "It's what people said when a woman drowned her baby in the river and set it down in a basket like a floating casket."

The look of horror on the boy's face was exactly what he expected. A wizard child, hell, the average wizard adult has never even imagined a person capable of killing a baby, let alone their own baby. With the obvious exceptions of the freaks that were Arthur and Molly Weasley, children were a rarity for witches and wizards. As a result, they were rightly cherished. In fact, the major reason most witches joined Voldemort's cause was because they learned of recent events in the Muggle world in regard to the sexual degradation of Muggle women followed soon after by rampant divorce and abortion. Any one of these was enough to disgust a witch to the point of genocidal rage, but all three?Yeah, it's a miracle most Death Eater's weren't women considering most of his supporters were.

Witches do not like the idea of people from a culture of baby killing, marriage ending, vow-breaking sexual deviants migrating into and changing their culture. And that's how Molly had put it to Hermione, Andromeda had much more colorful language. It was such a rampant view of witches towards Muggleborns that even Molly Weasley was so easily convinced by Rita Skeeter's rag that Hermione would behave so reprehensibly back in his fourth year.

There was not a chance in hell Harry was going to tell little Xenophilias any of this.

"But in the case of Moses, he was saved from his mother by a witch in Ramses' court and raised as an Egyptian wizard. Sargon? Raised by Veela, came back and conquered. Assuming this dream actually is post cognitive, which I have every reason to believe it is, you have brought me our first dream vision. One that every magiantrhopologist will want to see."

The boy brightened up at the praise.

"With your permission, I would like to bottle this up and take it to the ministry for the Unspeakables to verify. If you would kindly write a quick letter of introduction for yourself with the details of the dream, such as the date and time you had it, I can take it there this evening." Harry offered. "Make sure to sign it so they can make sure you get proper credit."

The boy did exactly as Harry suggested while he rebottled the memory. A piece of twine later and the vial was wrapped in the letter of introduction, and they were both on their way.

---

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