The young man stood up from his seat and stalked forward with a tremendous smile on his face. He bowed his head as a thick bronze necklace was placed upon his shoulders. The thick metal plaits – one for every person to wear the necklace – reached to the middle of his back.
His smile grew even brighter. Some traditions were merely stupid…but this one was worthy of abolition.
He walked to the front of the dais and held his wand to his throat.
"I accept the office of Minister of Magic." A cheer went up through the crowd. The campaign had been short and decisive. No one wanted to run against the Boy-Who-Lived.
"I returned to Britain after my post-Hogwarts journeys ready and willing to inspire some change in the land of my birth. What did I find? No new businesses started in twenty years; a handful of families in charge of everything. It was impossible to do anything new without paying massive bribes to people who already had tonnes of galleons. We were dead, but we didn't know it yet.
"I was a Ravenclaw in school, so indulge me for a moment if I engage in a minor history lesson. The earliest forms of wizarding government were all based on power; four powerful families would make peace treaties with each other or a dozen or thirty one families in a major type of war. Eventually two hundred twelve formed a lasting peace treaty, incidentally forming the first real wizarding government in the world, the Wizengamot. At that time, it was designed to ensure every powerful magic user had a voice in government – safer that then a bunch of disgruntled wizards rebelling. But as time passed and our traditions changed here and there, our government did not grow and adapt. Our problems now began for us hundreds of years ago. Stagnation kills.
"Enough, I say. Enough.
"I would like to use my opening remarks to lay out my first five days in office. Today, I will be dissolving the Wizengamot as it is undemocratic and has fallen into such disrepair that it had not been able to form a quorum of its membership in four years. Tomorrow, the election season for the Wizard Parliament will open. Fifty seats; each will serve for seven years or until the next election is called, whichever comes first. Tomorrow, we will also be closing four entire Ministry departments and seven additional offices. The business of government has become bloated; we will return to our simpler roots. On Wednesday, every remaining employee at the Ministry of Magic will be eligible to reapply for their jobs. We want only the best working here; we're going to be a small, lean organization. We have no room for hangers on or the wretched and useless."
The crowd hadn't been expecting any of this so they didn't know how to react. This Harry they'd elected was a touch different from the candidate they'd met.
"On Thursday, each candidate for the newly constituted Wizard Parliament will have public interviews here in Diagon Alley, also broadcast over the Wizarding Wireless. On Friday, the election will occur.
"In addition, as a further temptation for every witch and wizard of age to come vote at the Ministry, the Department of Mysteries will open for a public tour and inspection during the day. There has never, to my knowledge, been such an opportunity. I hope the curious will come – and vote – and then see some of what the Unspeakables been working on for so long. Our government needs to be more accountable, you understand, so this tour is just the first of many changes to how the Ministry does business."
The idea of visiting the Department of Mysteries was an attractive one. Quite a few witches and wizards applauded.
"Welcome to the revolution, gentle witches and wizards."
Harry Potter removed the wand from his neck and returned to his seat. He began that Monday morning a term as Minister that would stretch for years…. He was a mere thirty three years old, the youngest Minister of Magic ever elected.
Harry Potter was invincible by this point in his life, though others saw a young, possibly naïve young man who wasn't exactly suited to politics. Others thought they served as his opposition; thought they rebelled against him. But not really. Harry pulled their strings even without their knowledge and consent.
But it was not always so. Harry Potter was not always powerful. He became so. He evolved. Here is his story.
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Harry Potter learned of power a few weeks after his sixth birthday. His cousin Dudley's friend Piers Polkiss, a bully of the first order, stepped in front of a lorry carrying milk to the corner store and died. Just because Harry wished that he would.
The boy had helped beat up Harry earlier that day and was coming back for a second helping on his own. The pure anger that welled up inside of Harry was enough for something inside him – some blockage – to snap. From that moment, Harry had power. Invisible power.
Lots of children believed – or hoped – that they could fly or turn people into insects or become invisible. Harry discovered that day…and in the days to come…that he really could do these sorts of things. It wasn't just in his mind. It was his mind acting on the world, too.
The half dozen people on the street at the time saw Piers chasing after a ball and ignoring the shouts and yells for him to stop. The lorry threw the boy a dozen feet into the air. (The driver later topped himself in his grief.)
No one ever thought Harry had any culpability, not even the Dursleys.
After all, Aunt Petunia had seen the whole thing from her customary viewing spot in the kitchen. The freak had been weeding near the back garden when that poor Polkiss boy had his horrible accident.
When Harry was nine, Vernon Dursley died in a single car collision on his way to a sales appointment, just because he'd broken Harry's collarbone the night before. This time Petunia knew Harry had something to do with it, even though her husband had been fifteen miles away when it happened.
But she couldn't say a thing, could she? She knew the freak was a wizard, but no one else knew of such things. Her husband died, the insurance paid out triple as it was an accident, the company gave her even more for her husband's death on the job.
Petunia Dursley never raised her voice to Harry again. She had to almost beat her son Dudley to work the same concept into his mind. Harry was dangerous, even if no one else in the neighborhood or the school could see it. Petunia let Harry spend all his free moments reading…anything to keep him calm.
She waited and wished for the freaks to come calling. She wished they'd come drag him off to that school Hogwarts today. He couldn't get any worse than he was now, could he, even if they taught him things?
He already knew how to murder. How could it get any worse?
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Harry Potter took up residence in the Hogwarts library after he was sorted into Ravenclaw. His Aunt had explained about the wizarding world a bit after Harry turned ten. He'd had to wait a long time to come to Hogwarts, but he was ready. First of all, he wanted to know the names of the things he could do…even without his wand.
He was well into his second week of classes before he found a thin volume called Unbounded Magic. It had a very disparaging view of wands and gave a series of arguments for building one's capacities to perform magic without the 'hindrance' of a wand. That was the first time Harry understood he had been performing conscious, willful, wandless magic since he was six.
It was unusual, according to this old book, and powerful.
He vowed then never to get so dependent upon his wand that he lost the skill he currently possessed. He waved his hand at the book and it flew back to the shelf it came from. A few days later, Harry plucked a nice dark stick from the ground near the greenhouses. He spent a few days making it look like his wand. Then his real wand went into his trunk and Harry began to use an old stick – and true wandless magic – for his classwork.
Of course, he wouldn't tell anyone about this particular decision, either. Harry prized his privacy and his secrets.
He was well into October before he stumbled across the names for his ability to speak with animals, especially snakes. Being a parselmouth was considered a dark trait, as if anything could be adjudged light or dark in a vacuum. Another secret to keep.
Finally, he saw a tiny book hidden behind larger volumes on a high shelf in the library. The Animal Within. Harry was an animagus, had been for a long time. His crow form had allowed him to follow 'Uncle' Vernon two years ago and cast the bit of magic that incapacitated the man behind the wheel of a rapidly moving vehicle…to his death.
Knowledge like this was powerful. He knew what was what now…and began to plan to ensure no one ever learned of his skills. Harry was nothing if not cautious. Sure, he did stupid things, but he didn't get caught. Not ever.
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Harry Potter stalked out of the hospital wing ready to kill. The year had been going great until that blasted troll at Halloween almost killed his sort-of friend Hermione and then the first Quidditch game of the year had happened. Harry enjoyed the action from the stands, even with the unsportsmanlike conduct Slytherin used to demolish Gryffindor.
A pair of bludgers broke out of the case Madam Hooch just secured them in. Both of them came straight for Harry, who was just about to walk out of the stands. He ran, but it did no good. He dived so that one bludger broke his arm, rather than his head. The second one missed his chest by only a few inches. Two Ravenclaws jumped on one; Dumbledore pulled out his wand and blasted the other one. The shrapnel would possibly leave a permanent scar on Harry's face.
When he stood up, bleeding and cradling his broken arm, Harry saw only Quirrel and Snape looking aghast and…something else, something not quite normal.
One or both were guilty, Harry didn't care. He just wanted the problem solved. He'd already killed two bullies in his short life, who would care about another two?
Harry disappeared from the hallway and a crow flew off into the distance. He'd looked more into the animagus magic and decided that the present theories were all wrong. Harry had first managed the transformation at age eight, when hiding out from a pair of older bullies. The way the books explained, it was a miracle anyone ever became an animal. Either it was easy, as Harry found in a moment of necessity, or it was hard: Harry was proof that only one theory was right.
Quirrel was easy to find in his fourth floor office. Harry sent out the same kind of pulse from his hands that had incapacitated Vernon Dursley in his last car ride. Quirrel slumped to the ground.
It took only a few moments to drag Quirrel down a flight of stairs to the third floor. Harry opened the forbidden corridor and tossed Quirrel inside. He'd already thoroughly investigated the Cerberus. It would make short work of an unconscious man.
Harry locked the door and a crow took to the air again. It swooped outside and then down to the narrow slit windows the dungeons used. He hopped around on the ground for a good few minutes before he discovered where Snape lurked.
Harry stayed in crow form as he cast his next spell. (The fools who wrote the books Harry had read on animagery said that the animals couldn't cast spells. Wrong. Apparently the 'experts' didn't know what they were doing.)
Snape suddenly got up out of his seat, completely against his volition, and began the walk to the third floor corridor. Harry was using the very first bit of magic he'd ever perfected, the bit that allowed him to control Piers Polkiss as he walked in front of a milk lorry.
Harry flew up to the Ravenclaw tower through an open window and settled himself into his bed. There. Done. One of the two was guilty…and both were terrible teachers…so Harry had just served himself and the pursuit of knowledge quite well.
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Harry had mixed feelings in his first meeting with Horace Slughorn, Snape's replacement as a Potions Instructor. The man obviously knew his stuff, but he seemed to be wheedling his way into Harry's good graces. He did it well, but Harry was a powerful observer.
It took a few weeks before Harry understood that Slughorn was a collector – of famous names to drop, of favors to collect upon someday in the future, of little anecdotes to amuse his more famous, or powerful, or useful students. There was something useful in the practice, even if Slughorn was particularly unctuous in how he went about doing it. He couldn't have been subtle if his life depended upon it.
Harry began to realize that he would necessarily be limited in what he could learn and know – but he could push those limits by befriending others. Because of his upbringing, Harry had never had friends, but now he had a reason to try. He liked Hermione well enough and was friendly with her, as he was with the Nott boy in Slytherin and several folks in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.
Perhaps having…friends of a sort could be useful to the things he wanted to do. Perhaps. Harry decided he would try.
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Harry's mind had turned again to that strange Cerberus and what might be hidden up there. The bodies of Quirrell and Snape had long been cleared away and pained announcements made to the school. But the dog was still there.
What was Dumbledore hiding?
A research laboratory, perhaps. One didn't need a special place to research Transfiguration, any old research journal and a nook would do. But he was also an Alchemist, wasn't he?
More experiments, perhaps?
Dumbledore had been an alchemist for eighty years, but had done his most profitable work with Nicholas Flamel… Hold on, Flamel. The Philosopher's Stone. Was that old madman stupid enough to hide the summit of alchemical practice inside Hogwarts?
Harry had to find out.
It took him three weeks to put his plan together. On the first of February, he struck. His partner in crime? A particularly mirthsome house elf who cleaned the Ravenclaw tower at night and supervised the making of the pumpkin juice during the day.
Harry provided the happy elf with several prank items and the creature gladly applied them to the teacher's supply of pumpkin juice, wine, and water. Witches and wizards underestimated house elves. The little creatures enjoyed jokes and making merry.
"Remember, Terribeth, the clear one goes in the water; the brown one goes in the wine; and the yellow one in the pumpkin juice."
The elf squeaked and seemed so pleased.
Harry paid particular attention at dinner to who drank what. Luckily, Dumbledore had both water and wine with his dinner. Harry knew that the man wouldn't voluntarily be moving for a few days – at least any further than his private bathroom. The clear liquid was a powerful bowel loosener sold to Muggles; the stuff in the wine was the wizarding solution for the high colonic irrigation that some Muggles paid major money to have done; the yellow liquid was the true prank item, turning its drinker's hair purple and skin sallow green. Zonko's sold it by mail order.
Harry watched as the head table cleared out long before the students were finished with their meals. No teachers would be roaming the halls tonight, not even that vile Mr. Filch. He liked water, juice, and wine with dinner.
Professor Sprout's hair and skin color changed before she made it out of the hall. Four tables full of children began laughing as hard as they could.
The Professors would chalk all this up to a particularly effective prank, wouldn't they?
Harry waited until the last prefect patrol was over before he donned the Invisibility Cloak he'd received for Christmas. The note accompanying the cloak had been unsigned, but a quick reading of the magic in the paper revealed Dumbledore's signature. Muggles used fingerprints to learn the secrets of who did what; the magicals used signature reading spells, but only had the option if the magic was recent. Within twenty-four hours all the residue would be gone. Dumbledore apparently expected Harry wouldn't know about that and hadn't bothered to write his note and deliver the package a day or two earlier to truly avoid detection….
Three steaks from the kitchen kept the Cerberus amused while Harry disappeared down the trapdoor. A small circle of Devil's Snare disappeared under a fire spell. (It would regrow itself within hours, the vicious weed.) The room with the winged keys was the easiest by far to enter, as Harry removed the hinges from the door and then replaced them, once through. Harry levitated the chess pieces off to the side. When he smelled a disgusting troll, he threw the Cloak back on and walked slowly through the room. In the trapped room with the potions, Harry used a simple Flame Repelling Ward – not taught at Hogwarts, but described in its library as a way to protect wizarding homes – to create a hole in the flames. He collapsed the wards once he was through into what seemed the final room.
A large, ornate mirror stood alone in the room. Harry stepped in front of it. An impish mirror-image Harry opened his hand with a large red stone in it. Harry opened his own hand and saw that the Philosopher's Stone was now his. What a worthless protection – the whole lot of them, but especially the mirror. It just handed the prize over.
Harry wondered if he could study the Stone long enough to make his own…. What a way to begin his alchemical studies.
Harry took a few minutes to admire the stone and then decide upon how to cover up its theft. He pulled out his wand and summoned a stone from the ceiling. Harry stepped back and let gravity do its worst. The stone fell and crashed into the side of the mirror, sending the whole contraption to the floor. The silvery mirror exploded into a few thousand pieces – which Harry had shielded against – and the room looked perfect.
"Now, how am I getting out?"
He could easily return back the way he came, but the more he thought of it, someone like Dumbledore wouldn't take the long route when he had a shortcut. He'd publicly announced the entrance to this place back in September…in order to keep a different entrance hidden.
It took only fifteen minutes for Harry to find the hidden door. He removed another set of hinges and replaced them after stepping out. He found himself on the first floor, in a broom cupboard – thankfully empty –, so he threw the Cloak back on again and made his way to a window. He put the cloak in his back pocket and transformed into a crow. Instead of a twenty minute walk to his bedroom, he had a forty second flight. At least one of the windows in the common room was always partially open this time of year, luckily enough.
Harry hid the stone inside the battery compartment of the first radio/stereo he'd ever owned – and foolishly brought with him, not realizing that magic and electricity didn't mix well. It could serve a useful purpose this way.
The next morning only three professors made it to breakfast. Classes were cancelled and Gryffindor lost at least two hundred forty points, as every affected teacher seemed to separately punish Fred and George Weasley for their prank. Neither boy denied it. Harry barely kept his laughter to himself. Idiots and fools ruled the world.
Dumbledore didn't reappear at the head table for two more days. He looked thin and a bit gaunt. At least he never got the purple hair. Six teachers had discovered that the purple hair was permanent. Harry hadn't expected it, but everyone in the school seemed to enjoy that bit of residual fun. Terribeth the House Elf remained giddy and cheerful every time Harry saw her.
"We'll do something big next year, I promise."
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The beginning of his second year at Hogwarts was rather annoying. A crazy house elf was stalking Harry – it had popped in at Privet Drive once to warn Harry not to return to Hogwarts, then it had obviously sealed up the entrance to the Hogwarts Express. Harry had had to take the Knight Bus to Hogsmeade, a very unpleasant ride.
Now he was in the library surrounded by hundreds of interesting things and he was stuck trying to learn about blasted house elves. He'd rather be reading up on the Mind Arts, as he'd determined Dumbledore was a master of them, or on wizarding traditions or on the legal system or on warding…the list was long.
Damned house elves.
Harry eventually found an interesting passage, after sifting through four other, worthless books.
"The founding families brought order to the British Isles during a series of wars from 832 to 927. The Goblin War of 877 led to the creation of Gringotts Wizarding Bank through the use of ritual magic binding the goblins to their servitude. The Darrish Forest War of 903 led to the permanent settlement of centaurs near to what would become Hogwarts. Finally, the most pernicious beasts, the drawn elves, were put down in 927 and bound to wizarding servitude using the only known ritual at the time that had a hereditary component. Reports over the next hundred years reported that the elves' physiognomy changed the longer they were bound, from tallness to shortness, from brilliant thinkers to utterly servile wretches. It was a powerful act of cooperative magic, relying upon the initial 50 bonding families, each of whom took on some of the new servant elves or house elves. Lord Inverness led the families, but it was his brilliant lieutenants, Henri Poteur and Guy de Blackston (later shortened to Black), who made the victory possible. Cassia Fletcher brought the old ritual out of obscurity and provided the ideal solution to the situation, as useful servitude is far preferred to the outright slaughter of all the beasts…."
Henri Poteur… Could that be Henry Potter? Was his family line responsible for making that Dobby the crazy thing he was? Harry shook his head. Anything was possible.
Next time that crazy elf showed up, Harry would see if there was something he could do to make it less crazy. Would a free elf be rid of that pesky confinement ritual? Or would the changes only appear over several generations?
Who knew….
Harry finished the other relevant books over the next week, but he still didn't have a clue as to how to deal with Dobby. Could he treat the beast like a leprechaun and trick it into giving away information? Blasted thing.
After that, Harry returned to the more interesting books. The Chamber of Secrets was one bit of interesting lore….
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Harry spent a few weeks searching the castle for unrecognizable magic. The entrance to the chamber was obviously protected somehow. Magical, of course, as the protection had held for a thousand years.
Harry got very good at casting the magical analysis charm. He kept seeing the same readings over and over again, too.
Finally he discovered a spot where his spell registered a very odd pattern of magic, unlike any normal magical response he'd seen in the castle. The girl's bathroom – the one with the creepy ghost in it all the time – had something else odd inside it.
He spent some time down and narrowed it down to an odd set of sinks. Harry hissed at the thing – given that Slytherin had built it – and saw the whole thing begin to move and open.
"Odd he'd pick a sink in a girl's bathroom…particularly as there was no plumbing when Hogwarts was built." Harry wondered if perhaps this entrance had been created over the original one in the more recent past.
Harry levitated himself down the hole. It was quite grimy, but there were signs someone had used it recently.
Harry picked his way quietly through the natural cavern leading away from the end of the tunnel. He came to the entrance a few minutes later. The massive steel door was open. Someone was inside. He'd forgotten his Invisibility Cloak, but he had finally learned the Disillusionment Charm. He made himself invisible and walked inside the massive room.
A puny firstie was on the ground staring into a book. The tail of a massive basilisk slithered out of view, into the mouth of the statue at the other end of the room.
"Sheba is still alive…." Harry noted the girl spoke with an older man's voice. Something odd was happening. Parselmouths were rare, so how could a male-inflected slip of a girl be a Parselmouth?
"…the blood traitor knows little of the blood status of those children here. Granger is one for sure. There must be others. I must make sure she is more inquisitive in the future…."
That was enough for Harry. The girl was possessed it sounded like; she was speaking of herself as a separate entity.
Harry pulled out his wand and carefully took aim. It was a longer distance shot. "Stupefy."
The girl didn't even hear the whispered words. She collapsed on the stone ground. Harry walked over to her and the diary. He cast an analysis spell at the book. The results were unlike anything Harry had ever seen, but it was clearly the blackest of the black arts.
Harry wanted more information before he decided how to deal with the possessed girl. He set the diary far away from the girl and then drew a Silencing Line around him and girl. That bit of magic was a poor man's silencing ward, very temporary but also very easy to cast.
Harry woke the girl. She blinked and opened her mouth a few times before asking, "Who are you?"
The voice was a girlish one.
"Do you know where you are?"
"No. What are you doing to me?"
"I'm not sure. I found you here, speaking like a young man. Is that one of your hobbies?"
"What?"
Harry shook his head. "That diary over there. Where did you get it?"
"I found it this summer."
"Does it do anything unusual?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Tell me if you want to live."
The girl squeaked. "The writing disappears. It talks back. Sometimes it shows me things…."
"How?"
"It shows me Hogwarts fifty years ago, my professors when they were younger…."
"Memories in a book. Did you know your hands are covered in blood and feathers?"
The girl looked down and noticed how filthy she was. "I don't understand…."
Harry stunned her again. There wasn't much she could tell him. She was obviously stupid to come under the control of such a vile object, but she had never done anything to Harry. He decided to do the safe, even the kind thing. He would take a year of her memories and leave her somewhere…with someone else to take the blame.
The diary would remain in this room until Harry could figure out what it was. He didn't fancy himself trapped inside his own mind while some foreign force controlled his body.
Harry aimed his wand at the little girl's forehead and said, "Obliviate." He focused on exactly how much he wanted gone. It was a surprisingly flexible spell. (Harry had already practiced it a few times on Argus Filch, but he'd never taken a year of memories before from anyone.)
Harry spent twenty minutes examining the room before he levitated the red headed girl as he left. He had a plan to deal with this.
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Breakfast the next morning was an odd event. Half the teachers were missing. The Gryffindor table was in shock. The Slytherins were scheming to figure out what was happening.
Harry knew, of course.
Another useless teacher would be departing Hogwarts soon. Harry couldn't abide stupidity of any sort – nor bullies. Three Defense teachers had now been dispatched: Quirrel, Quirrel's replacement Mugoba (who spoke in a heavy French accent impenetrable to anyone in the room), and now Lockhart. The man had been found by ghosts a few hours ago after attempting to plant Ginny Weasley's unconscious body near the Slytherin dormitories. Harry knew that the prevailing theory would be that Lockhart practiced some sort of depravity upon the girl, obliviated her, and tried to leave her somewhere to implicate some or all of Slytherin House.
A perfect plan, save that Lockhart stumbled and bashed his head in on a staircase while he was fleeing the scene.
Weasley might be able to make up the lost knowledge – or, at worst, she'd have to start over next year. Lockhart would be lucky to escape a ten year confinement at Azkaban. It was the least he deserved. He was an obvious fraud…but Harry needed him alive and with a working wand to deny everything and make himself look even more guilty.
Harry waited until that evening before he returned to the third floor bathroom. This time a ghost was there singing to itself.
"I was looking for the Bloody Baron," Harry said. "Have you seen him?"
The ghost looked upset and then burst into tears. She flew right out of the room. All ghosts were terrified of the Bloody Baron, but Harry couldn't figure out why.
He opened the entry and levitated himself down. A few minutes later, Harry was puzzling over how to get the basilisk to come to him.
"Basilisk of the Chamber?"
That did nothing. Harry could continue trying or he could tempt that blasted diary. Neither seemed too appealing right now.
"Salazar Slytherin's Basilisk!"
On the word Slytherin, the mouth of the statue began to open. Go figure. A megalomaniac made his own name the password in his secret chamber.
That was how Harry learned how to converse with a basilisk. It was skeptical at first when Harry told it he didn't plan to use it to kill anyone. It then became indifferent when Harry said he was the last known Parselmouth in the country. Finally they worked out a truce.
"I won't kill you," the massive snake said. "You don't try to kill me."
"Agreed."
Harry now had an interesting resource in his corner. He spent another twenty minutes chatting with the monster about how it fed (spiders from the forest or other animals it found) and how many people it had known since Salazar (four, including Harry, Tom Riddle, and Ginny Weasley; the snake did not know the name of the fourth).
"Sleep. I may return in time."
"I do not care."
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Harry began working on a circle of friends. He helped them with their studies, sought their opinions on a wide range of issues, and supported them in their activities and interests. By the time Harry was a third year, he had a Slytherin, three Ravenclaws, two Hufflepuffs, and a Gryffindor among his circle.
He had watched Slughorn and improved on the man's overbearing ways. Harry tried subtlety and found it worked for him.
A portion of the group was currently up to its eyes in books on animagi. Hermione Granger insisted that Harry help her in the library. Susan Bones and Justin Finch-Fletchley tagged along, as did Terry Boot. Harry usually only got to spend time with Ted Nott when other people weren't around. Harry understood.
"Are we done," Harry asked.
Hermione wanted to argue. No one else wanted to study animagi any longer. Seventeen books for a two foot essay – ridiculous.
"Great, who wants to help me research Dementors? I don't like being near the damned things…."
Terry and Hermione were game, but Susan and Justin bailed. Hufflepuffs were actually smarter in a lot of ways than Ravenclaws…what with common sense and all.
It was ten minutes before the library closed when Hermione found the book that described the Patronus Charm.
"I want to learn this," she declared.
Harry peered over her shoulder. "I do, too. That damned thing on the Hogwarts Express made me faint…and I don't like that."
Terry looked at the charm. "I don't know when I'd ever use it, but I'm game, too."
"We'll start tomorrow," Harry said.
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Harry was off for another hour of practicing his Patronus near to that blasted boggart they'd found in the dungeon. He'd have to swing by Gryffindor first to get Hermione. It wasn't exactly safe for Harry to practice his nascent spell casting against a Dementor-shaped boggart without someone else around.
He knocked on the Fat Lady's portrait and waited for someone to come out and help him. That someone was Ron Weasley and he was carrying a rather sad looking rat in his hand.
"Potter, what do you need?" His tone was bored.
"I'm supposed to study with Hermione Granger. Could you tell her I'm here?"
Ron nodded and pulled the portrait shut behind him. Harry kept thinking about that strange rat all the while he waited.
Hermione popped her head out the portrait and looked ready to practice.
"Hermione, could you ask Weasley to come back for a second? I had a question for him just now."
She shrugged and snorted. "I've no idea why, but sure."
A few moments later Weasley reappeared with his rat and an eyedropper in hand. "Yeah?"
"I was wondering about familiars, Weasley. How long have you been bonded…."
"He's my pet, not my familiar. He was Percy's before I got him, if you must know."
Harry nodded and pulled out his wand. He quickly cast the magical analysis spell – which reported back as 'wizard' – and then cast a stunner.
Weasley stood there like an oaf and Hermione prepared to start screaming.
Harry shook his head. "You haven't got a rat. You've got a wizard hiding out as a rat…."
"That's impossible," Ron said. "He's been in the family for, I don't know, twelve years."
"Longer than rats live, but not too long for an animagus."
Hermione shouted in surprise and joy. The girl belonged in Ravenclaw, no doubt.
"Let's take it to Professor Flitwick," Harry said. It really was a curiosity and probably a matter for law enforcement.
"McGonagall – or Dumbledore," Hermione said. She did have a fetish of some sort for those two former Gryffindors. Harry decided then that Hermione might be useful, but she could never be part of his grander plans, the ones that were still just barely conceived.
Ron nodded. "Dumbledore will know."
Harry levitated the rat in front of them as none of them really wanted to touch the foul looking thing. Ron had been attempting to give the pathetic looking creature some medicine Hagrid recommended, but the rat refused to allow the eyedropper anywhere near its mouth. The mange was taking out great clumps of the beast's fur.
Hermione seemed to know the way to the Headmaster's office and even had the password to the gargoyle.
"Miss Granger, Mister Potter, Mister Weasley…" the voice came through the door.
Harry pushed the door open and the levitated rat went in first.
"I think this rat isn't a rat, Headmaster," he said. Ron and Hermione just looked unsure standing behind him.
"Let's get Professor Lupin and Professor McGonagall and see what we can do, then, right?"
The larger group was ready within a few minutes to see what this rat really was. McGonagall nodded to Lupin who cast the Animagus Reversal spell. Within a few moments, Lupin saw his old friend Peter Pettigrew stunned on the ground.
"My Merlin, Harry was right," Ron said, looking as if he might be sick. "I've been sleeping with that…that man for three years." Ron turned positively green.
"He was dead," Lupin said with a flat tone.
"Not that dead, it seems," Dumbledore whispered. "I wonder how to begin…."
"Sir," Harry said, "who is he? Why do you and Professor Lupin seem to know him?"
McGonagall, the only one without a shocked look to her face, took the question. "He was Peter Pettigrew, a friend to your father when they were in school. During the war, it seemed like Sirius Black killed him…but that's obviously not true, is it?"
Harry nodded. It seemed like more retarded wizards had made more assumptions. Now they didn't know how to deal with the evil things they'd done through ignorance and stupidity. "Professor, may I call Professor Slughorn? He's likely to have Veritaserum."
Dumbledore nodded at Harry's request. In ten minutes, the whole group had added another massive participant, as Slughorn wasn't voluntarily going anywhere. He would be able to dine out on this story for months.
The interrogation was short and to the point. The man was Peter Pettigrew; he had killed the Muggles on the street in order to disappear and frame his old friend; he had served as Secret Keeper to the Potters and betrayed their secret willingly to the Dark Lord. Dumbledore stunned the man once it was all over.
He put his head into his fireplace and called for Amelia Bones. "Madam, could I borrow you for a few minutes, along with a couple of your Aurors. We've had a very interesting piece of information come to light."
The process was repeated and a gobsmacked Bones took nearly five minutes to decide what to do. "Cornelius is an idiot about many things, so we'll do this the underhanded way. Albus, convene a session of the Wizengamot for this afternoon, a full session. I'll ensure we have a full contingent of reporters. Cornelius is currently on his way to Blackpool to attend a Ball with the Lithuanian Ambassador this evening, so he will receive his notice long after the session is over. I think I will ensure that Madam Umbridge never receives a notice nor shall a number of certain families…."
Harry marveled at the woman. She was slow to get started but had a thoughtful mind and a meticulous plan.
"What will happen to the fugitive Sirius Black?"
"If the trial goes the way I expect and receives the attention from the media, I think we can make it clear he's been cleared of all charges…."
Harry nodded. Dumbledore looked thoughtful. Lupin looked horrified. Harry would look into their reactions later.
"Why doesn't the school have animagus detection wards?" Harry asked after Bones left with her prisoner.
"We never thought we needed them before…." That was Dumbledore, still lost in thought.
The trial as Bones arranged it was short and to the point. Pettigrew spoke for almost thirty minutes covering every question the Elders asked him. It was beyond clear that a serious miscarriage of justice had occurred.
The most disturbing part was where the rat described a ritual Voldemort had prepared before Pettigrew and the Dark Lord went to the Potters. One dead Muggle, a small vial of a potion, and Harry couldn't stop wondering at the point of it all.
"Guilty," was the verdict.
Dumbledore then raised the question of Sirius Black. Because of Bones' selection of the invitees there was no debate or question. The press recorded the first trial of Sirius Black – twelve years after his imprisonment – where he was declared innocent of the charges against him.
Further action by the Wizengamot included revoking Pettigrew's Order of Merlin and setting up a compensation fund for Sirius Black. Writs were issued for Cornelius Fudge, Bartemius Crouch, and Millicent Bagnold to answer questions before the Wizengamot regarding their roles in the affair. Specifically in their roles denying Sirius Black any sort of trial.
Harry enjoyed the exposure of incompetence…it was a capital crime in Harry's book. He pondered that when he returned to Hogwarts. What did he really believe in?
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Harry met Sirius Black one month after Remus Lupin successfully tracked the man down and convinced him he was no longer being hunted. That the Dementors had been removed from Hogwarts was a strong proof of this.
Sirius was in a room at St. Mungo's. He had wounds that were still healing and looked a touch undernourished.
"Harry…."
"Mr. Black, it's nice to meet you."
"Call me Sirius. You look just like your dad did…."
Harry smiled and nodded.
"Mr. Lupin told me you are my godfather."
"That I am, Harry, that I am."
"What does a godfather do in the wizarding world?"
"Steps in for the parents if they're unable."
Harry nodded. "When I was an infant why did you leave me with the Dursleys while you went after Mr. Pettigrew? The Aurors surely could have done that better than just a single wizard."
Sirius looked pitiful for a moment. "I was angry. You seemed safe with Hagrid so I thought I would avenge my best friend. It didn't work out very well."
"You were in Gryffindor, I take it."
The gnarled wizard laughed a few times. "I guess my story sounds like the epitome of foolish bravery, doesn't it?"
Harry smiled and nodded.
"I would like to get to know you, even have you live with me, if you'd like…once I get a place to live."
"I'd like to know you better as well. Things at the Dursleys aren't bad, but I will definitely keep your offer top of mind."
Sirius smiled. "I am sorry, you know. I thought of James first and not you."
Though Harry and Sirius didn't know it, this was the last chance for Harry to turn away from the path he was already following. Sirius' stories of his parents, no matter how charming and amusing, weren't enough. Harry didn't change. He was locked in his course and refused to be moved.
Sirius did leave Harry with one fantastic idea before the boy left. "You wouldn't happen to know where the Marauder's Map went, would you?"
Harry shook his head.
"It looks like a tatty piece of parchment, but it holds something wonderful inside it, a map of Hogwarts and everyone moving around inside it…."
Later that night, Harry threw himself into his new project, a new map.
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The few weeks before the end of his third year at Hogwarts, Harry was busy surreptiously copying dozens and dozens of the books in the library, many from the Restricted Section. He needed things to keep him busy and interested over the summer months.
Over the summer, he spent hours in the park and in his room reading. He was finally getting ready, ready to announce who and what he was. He was not a blood purist like Malfoy and Voldemort and the other knuckledraggers. He was not a willfully blind mugglelover like Dumbledore. He didn't believe in rule by cronies like Fudge and others in the Ministry. He believed only in merit – the rule of the talented, enforced by their power.
Harry had set up a small laboratory in his room so that he could turn iron and lead found at nearby construction sites into gold. He finally had a need for easy gold so he was using the Philosopher's Stone he'd stolen in his first year.
His plans were stretching outside of Hogwarts for the first time. It wasn't enough to dispose of bad teachers and to destroy those who would harm him. He needed allies and sources of information. He needed a wider reach. He needed competence writ large in the world.
Seeing the injustice done to his godfather had turned Harry's attention to the wider wizarding world for the first time. It was time to begin reshaping the world. Harry didn't think he wanted to rule – he didn't have the patience for it – but he wanted to set the rules and choose the least terrible leaders.
He needed to cleanse the world of incompetence wherever it existed, with whatever means he could find. He would use information; he would use gold; he would snuff out lives when required. He would make a world worth living in – and no one would ever know why it changed.
Harry wanted results, not credit.
Harry made gold (with his Philosopher's Stone), read every book he'd copied from Hogwarts, and snuck out to Diagon Alley to deposit his gold and purchase a larger and more secure trunk for his most precious possessions, his books.
There was a reason Harry was in Ravenclaw.
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Harry spent the calm of his first two months at Hogwarts copying nearly book of interest in the Hogwarts library. His special book trunk had five room-sized compartments which were almost bursting when Harry finished. He didn't bother with obviously obsolete volumes or with areas of study that didn't interest him. Divination books remained untouched as did anything wizards published on Muggles.
Harry had one full room devoted to Charms of every shape and variety. Kitchen charms; cleaning charms; task charms for the farmer or the builder or the innkeeper or the broom maker or the Auror; charms for translation or learning languages; joke or pranking charms of every shape and variety. Harry had memorized just over five hundred of the more useful – or obscure – of these charms.
Another room held his texts on transfiguration, arithmancy, and spell modification. He was in here often. Hogwarts didn't teach spell modification, but Harry wanted to learn it. He wanted to have spells no one else knew or could combat.
He had a room for books on runes, rituals, and astronomy. His fourth room held the most important thirty potions manuals and books related to history, defense, and magical creatures.
The fifth and final room held the volumes on offensive magics and wards. The books filled less than a single bookcase so far, but Harry knew that this room would be very important. Harry had memorized every spell in this room, even if he planned never to use some of them.
It was odd how few books there were in Hogwarts on offensive magics and wards – and none at all on alchemy – even though the school possessed an impressive set of wards and its Headmaster had studied under Nicholas Flamel. There were more books at Hogwarts, just not available to the students. Harry just needed to find them.
Harry was stuck at dinner the night before Halloween when he wished he could be in his room in Ravenclaw Tower reading. He was back onto the problem of Dementors. He'd mastered the Patronus Charm, but it was barely enough to chase the soul demons away. He wanted something a bit sturdier to use when dealing with them.
He surveyed the room and thought about the theme of international magical cooperation. Harry could use more friends as spokes in his intelligence network. He'd have to see if he had enough charm for Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, wouldn't he?
"Welcome, young witches and wizards. Tonight we welcome our foreign counterparts as we begin the TriWizard Tournament again. The glory and majesty of victory. The danger and suspense of the challenges. What a year we'll have. Three champions; three next-to-impossible challenges; one TriWizard Cup Winner. Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff will join me as judges, along with the Head of Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman, and Interim Head of International Magical Cooperation, Toperrany Flint." Dumbledore summoned forth an old casket, complete with dust and cobwebs. "This Goblet of Fire will select the champions from the three schools. Students have until dinner tomorrow night to enter their names. To ensure the safety of the participants, only those seventeen or older as of tomorrow may enter. I will draw the Age Line myself…."
Harry frowned. This sounded like fun, but it was likely more trouble brewing, like that stone in first year. Harry decided on a bit of vigilance over night to be sure nothing odd happened with the goblet.
When he returned to the Ravenclaw Tower he dug out an interesting historical volume on games and sports. The TriWizard Tournament had a chapter inside it. His reading unsettled Harry. The competition was known for being rife with cheating and intentional maiming of the other's schools' pupils. It sounded like a potential disaster waiting to happen.
Harry used his Invisibility Cloak to return downstairs before the last of the people left the Great Hall. He watched Viktor Krum enter his name while his goatish Headmaster lurked behind him.
He sat up the rest of the night observing. A few more people came in when the hall was empty to put their names in, shy people. Nothing unusual happened at all.
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Harry had caught a quick nap instead of attending History of Magic. It wasn't like Binns missed him.
When he got to dinner that evening, he felt the tension in the room. So many wanted to see their names come out of the goblet…Harry just wanted to be sure nothing strange happened.
He clutched his wand under the table after he finished eating. The goblet began its pyrotechnic show. Soon Viktor Krum, Fleur Delacour, and Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff were champions. The blasted goblet began sparking a fourth time and another paper flew out.
Harry cast the spell he hoped he wouldn't have to use. Whatever was on the paper was magically switched with one of the bits of paper still inside the Goblet. The transition was seamless, Harry barely even noticed it.
How did a fourth name get queued up? Did Dumbledore do it…or did someone inside the Ministry, where Harry assumed the Goblet came from, intend to put a fourth name into play.
Harry was modest enough to presume that the fourth name could have been anyone's, but paranoid enough to know it had been his own.
Dumbledore caught the slip of paper and read out the name: "Evangeline Slovyenko, Durmstrang."
Dumbledore seemed genuinely surprised at the fourth name, so perhaps he wasn't the guilty one. He also hadn't tried to pronounce Harry's name when it was obviously someone else's name coming from the goblet.
So…who had done this thing?
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"I cannot believe the nerve of those dark wizards," seemed to sum up the view of the Beauxbatons students.
Harry spent a few minutes after the feast chatting with some of them. He was looking for an ounce or two of intelligence…and found more fluff than fortitude inside the ones he spoke with.
Later he moved onto some of the still-shocked Durmstrang students who had two champions to deal with…and ex-lovers at that.
Harry's response to the glares from Durmstrang. "I completely believe your second champion didn't engineer this." Of course, Harry did not mention his own minor role…as he was still trying to find the person who had made a fourth name pop out of the goblet.
Harry eyed up the usual suspects. Bagman (acquitted Death Eater), Flint (suspected Death Eater), Karkaroff (pardoned Death Eater)… Where to start?
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Harry was frustrated beyond belief. The Goblet of Fire mystery was still unsolved and he'd run through his candidates. He'd used powerful wandless compulsions on each of his three suspects. None of them knew who engineered the fourth name.
He sat in Potions class with the Slytherins and tried to avoid Slughorn's repeated glances his way. The man was trying to get him to come to some sort of meeting in his office in two days time. It sounded sketchy to Harry.
As Harry tried to make his way out of class, Slughorn tried to corner Harry again. Harry cast a compulsion to tell the truth.
"What's the meeting about?"
"I'd like to introduce you to Rita Skeeter…."
"The reporter who lies about everyone?"
"Well, yes, my boy."
"Thanks for being upfront. I'll consider it."
"Excellent, my boy. I'll let her know you're coming."
Harry didn't argue with or correct the old man. Slughorn had just outlived his usefulness, hadn't he?
Harry walked into Ravenclaw and listened to a seventh year complaining about the interview process at the Ministry of Magic. "I'm going to be a fourth tier office clerk for a decade in Games and Sports before I even get looked at for a promotion and a raise."
"How do you know that," Harry asked.
"I'm a halfblood. If I were Muggleborn, I wouldn't have even gotten an interview…."
"Really?"
"Purebloods can join the better departments. Some even get snagged to be the assistants to department heads. That Weasley boy who graduated last year was slotted to work for the head of International Magical Cooperation before Crouch got demoted. He's about as worthless as wizards come, but he's got wizarding blood going back at least seven hundred years if not longer."
Harry frowned, but nodded his understanding.
"Purebloods who hate each other will still normally look out for each other. If someone other than a pureblood had sent away another pureblood to Azkaban without a trial, they'd have been Kissed. As it was, Crouch got a slap on the wrist."
"I didn't realize," Harry said.
Kent Lovage just shrugged. "I was prepared. But no one ever tells the Muggleborn not to come to Hogwarts…none of the teachers ever talk about the discrimination."
Harry sighed. "We'll just have to see if there's anything to be done, Kent. Thanks for mentioning it."
"If you ever need to start up a Quidditch team, I'll have all the forms you need to fill out…."
The boy was already bitter long before he started in his new job. It made Harry curious. Stupid people could be men or women, rich or poor, pureblooded or muggle – why did the pureblood supremacy movement have a lock on the political culture? And how was Harry going to reverse it?
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Slughorn had cornered Harry five times in the last two months, each time demanding that Harry meet with Rita Skeeter, "a dear old friend of mine."
Mad-Eye Moody kept his odd, creepy magical eye trained on Harry nearly every moment Harry was anywhere near the ancient ex-Auror.
Dumbledore kept on inviting Harry to tea to discuss his education…but never really said anything.
Harry was done with meddlesome old men. Done!
When June rolled around, Harry was ready for his final plan of the school year. On the morning of the Third Task of the TriWizard Tournament, Alastor Moody was found dead of poison so strong the bezoar in his stomach and the other one in his mouth couldn't save him. The obvious retaliatory strike back against Slughorn had left the man without a right arm or any blood in his body.
Their obvious mutual antipathy for each other had caused Slughorn to poison Moody – and the suspicious ex-Auror to maim Slughorn and thereby avenge his own murder.
God, wizards would believe anything. It hadn't been the best of Harry's plots, but the people bought it without question.
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Krum won. He went into the maze in second place overall and managed to cheat his way to victory.
(Even with the tragedy in Hogwarts, nothing changed with the TriWizard Tournament. Dumbledore told the Ministry about the tragedy, but everyone agreed to keep mum until after the tournament concluded.)
After he emerged with the Cup, the world discovered how Krum did it. The accidental fourth champion was found stunned. Cedric Diggory had had his wand snapped and was in a temporary coma. Fleur Delacour had been banished into a pool of sticky sap that had been part of the course.
The judges forced Krum to compensate Diggory for his destroyed wand. Rita Skeeter went wild with every kind of accusation of Dark Arts being used in the Tournament. Everyone left, even before the deaths of Slughorn and Moody were announced, with a bad taste in their mouths over the affair.
The final act to the TriWizard debacle came the following day, after news of Moody and Slughorn broke, when the Board of Governors sacked Albus Dumbledore as Headmaster. He'd had four teachers die in the last few years, two of them killing each other, one teacher molest and obliviate a year's worth of memories from a student, and he'd hired a werewolf.
Harry was glad for the outcome, but still didn't know who had mucked around with the Goblet of Fire. Harry decided to try confronting his original suspect, now that the man was out of office.
Harry found Dumbledore the day before term ended levitating some boxes on his walk to the outer gate.
"Can I help you, Headmaster?"
"No, thank you, Mr. Potter. I'm just moving some boxes and my magic is strong enough."
"I was wondering if you ever discovered who caused the Goblet to spit out four names, sir?" Harry used a mild touch of his compulsion ability to see what he could shake loose out of the old warlock.
"Why, yes, I've known all along, my boy."
"Who was it?"
"Me, of course." Dumbledore looked shocked to have admitted that, but he couldn't retract it, could he?
"Why, sir?" Harry could have kicked himself for not returning to Dumbledore as a suspect sooner.
"I had hoped the Goblet would select you, so that the whole school could see what you were made of. You obviously know a lot more than you show…."
Harry nodded and pondered over how to repay Dumbledore for the attempted favor.
"The only thing I never figured out is how that other name came out. I was so shocked to see it that I just read it out. Had I kept my wits about me, I could have said your name."
"But if that girl was the one the Goblet selected, wouldn't she have been compelled to compete?"
"Tosh and nonsense. The line about the magical binding contract just sounds good and keeps the kids from getting nervous and trying to back out. Magical contracts have to be initiated in blood or magic, you know, things far more substantial than a mere slip of paper."
Harry nodded. He decided to see what Hogwarts had in the way of legal magic – the power of binding contracts and such, there could be something there.
"What did you slip to me to get me to tell you all that?"
"It's a gift I have, Headmaster. People like to tell me things, you know."
Harry was quiet for a few minutes before he asked his next question. "Why me?"
"I wished to flush out Voldemort, offer him a temptation. I've been trying to discover for years if he's still around in some form or other…."
"You would have sacrificed my life for some information?"
Albus shrugged and was ready to reply before his face went slack. A second, more powerful compulsion made him forget about this conversation. The compulsion would last until broken, but it wasn't like people got checked for that sort of thing.
"I wish you the best, Headmaster."
"You, too, young Harry. Best of luck. I fear you may need it."
That ending to the conversation left Harry wondering. Dumbledore knew – or suspected something. Did he know of Harry's plans? Harry didn't speak of them with anyone and his mind was quite well protected with his ability to occlude others from it.
Harry decided more research into Dumbledore might be in the cards.
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Rita Skeeter finally got her interview. She used Slughorn's promises before his death to directly contact Harry for a meeting. This one Harry was glad to give. He had enough notice to plot out exactly what he wanted to say and what effects he wanted to achieve with his words.
The article on the front of the Daily Prophet the day Harry left on the Hogwarts Express said the following:
Boy-Who-Lived Faults Dumbledore, Fudge, Ministry for Falling Hogwarts Standards; Calls Fudge Corrupt
In a rare public interview, Harry Potter commented on Albus Dumbledore's recent dismissal from Hogwarts. "I liked the man for his humor and for the positive things he brought to the school. However, I have been aghast at some of the choices he made in hiring faculty and staff at Hogwarts. Two of his appointees got themselves killed trying to steal a precious artifact; another one should have been imprisoned in Azkaban rather than hired to teach young witches and wizards; and two others hated each other so much that they killed each other. On the academic side, I've found the instruction very uneven here as several of my courses are excellent while a number of courses are quite below par."
When asked to elaborate on who does a good job, Mr. Potter smiled and said, "I have enjoyed learning from Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Vector, and the late Professor Slughorn. Astronomy has never been an interest of mine, but Professor Sinistra has done her best to intrigue me and the others in the classes. One of my Defense teachers was quite good, Mr. Lupin, while Mr. Moody was rather more intimidating than helpful. On the improvement side, I am quite appalled at the quality of instruction provided on the History of Magic, which should be taught by a living witch or wizard, and Ancient Runes, which is too much a historical class, and the lack of materials provided in the library or in classes on wards, offensive magic, dueling, politics, alchemy, enchanting, magical finance, or a few dozen other fields." Mr. Potter proves here why he was placed in Ravenclaw House.
I asked Mr. Potter why the situation had become so bad. "I think Mr. Dumbledore didn't think things were bad. He didn't know or care to know that the standards had fallen – which is unfortunate proof that he shouldn't have been Headmaster as long as he was. From what I can tell in the library, he hadn't approved expenditures for purchasing new library volumes in at least ten years. Magic does change and evolve over time. Witches and wizards discover new ways of doing things or rediscover ideas that were previously lost – and we do not have the most recent knowledge available to us as students at Hogwarts. If Madame Maxime at Beauxbatons had done such a thing to her students, she would have been immediately sacked…but Dumbledore has always been treated differently, hasn't he?
"As for the people who were supposed to be watching Dumbledore, the Board of Governors fights about minor issues and ignores the bigger ones. For example, in my second year, I remember hearing about the board locked in a bitter dispute for months over Mr. Lucius Malfoy's contribution of new brooms specifically to Slytherin House. Instead of debating such a useless matter, they could have appropriated funds and bought the other three houses new brooms as well – problem solved.
"As well, the Ministry of Magic does little more than write OWL and NEWT examinations. They grant blanket teaching certifications to anyone Hogwarts hires without checking them out first. Cornelius Fudge – and Millicent Bagnold before him – abdicated the Ministry's limited role in ensuring a quality education for every British witch and wizard. To my mind, anyone who believes they have more important tasks than providing the best education possible doesn't belong in education or government."
I followed up by asking Mr. Potter his personal opinion of Minister Fudge. "I have only met him once, but I did look into his record as a student, a Ministry official, and then as Minister of Magic. His record as a student – barely passing four NEWTs – has borne out in his Ministry career. His four years in office have provided a record that shows him to be, perhaps, the worst Minister we've had in 232 years…since Reginald Flotibot was publicly forced out as Minister after several corruption scandals broke…."
I asked here whether Mr. Potter suspected that Fudge was guilty of corruption. "I have no evidence other than common sense. His closest associates come from older, broke pureblood families with little to recommend them other than their pureblood status. His 'advisors,' those lobbyists who fill his mind with ideas, are all wealthy purebloods. In the four years he's been in office his personal coffers have filled quite handily – he even spoke about it in an interview last year in Political Monthly magazine – and the Umbridge family finally accumulated enough wealth to cancel out their long-standing debts. I understand that Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge managed to buy a seat on the Wizengamot earlier this year. If they accomplished all of those things on their governmental salaries, then I'll be most impressed."
I closed the interview by asking Mr. Potter why he'd been so verbose in this interview when he'd refused to speak with the press before. "Ms. Skeeter, I've seen what charming things you can write when the fancy strikes you. I only agreed to this interview after you swore an Unbreakable Vow to report my words exactly as I spoke them. The truth means a lot to me and this is the first opportunity I've had to ensure I was quoted accurately."
We shall expect to see more bombs from Mr. Potter's mouth in the coming years I expect.
Harry smiled happily at the article. It was exactly what he'd wanted. He came off as the quintessential Ravenclaw looking out only for the accumulation of knowledge…and his accusations against Malfoy, Fudge, Umbridge, and the Ministry would sting them into stupid reactions.
Oh, Harry loved dumb opponents. They had no idea what they were going up against.
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Harry hadn't known how the attacks would escalate off the printed page, but he wasn't terribly surprised when he felt the oppressing sadness enveloping him and Dudley. Dementors – the Ministry was trying to kill him. Harry smiled, pulled out his wand, and began casting a ward he'd discovered in a ragged book in the restricted section: the Patronus Line.
He cast a box-like ward that trapped the two demi-demons inside it. Dudley had long since passed out.
Harry was interested to see if anyone would detect and call him on his use of Underage Magic. As he'd constructed a ward – which was exempted from the law because of various loopholes purebloods had insisted upon – Harry didn't expect anything to happen to him.
He waited an hour while the Dementors shrieked and keened. They did not enjoy their temporary prison very much. It was like a powerful Patronus Charm pushing at them from every direction. They couldn't flee, just like an underage wizard wouldn't be able to pass over a well-cast Age Line. The Patronus Line was a wonderful bit of magic….
"What to do with you?"
The Dementors looked at their captor.
"Can you understand me?"
One of them nodded slowly.
"I want you to return to the one who sent you. I want you to Kiss him or her – and every witch or wizard nearby. Do you understand?"
The faceless beast seemed to quiver in excitement. Harry took that as a yes. "If you betray me, I will imprison you and forget about you."
Then he cancelled the Patronus Line and watched the Dementors float away.
He figured Fudge had ordered one of his flunkies to do such a thing. Politicians often liked to use assassination to solve problems. Harry could return the favor, couldn't he?
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The news of the attack of Dementors upon nine purebloods at a party in Devonshire brought down the Fudge government in three days. No one believed Cornelius had control of the beasts any longer.
He was ousted, four of his supporters in the Wizengamot were dead (Kissed), including his Undersecretary, and the tribunal immediately launched probes into corruption and incompetence by the administration. Fudge was ordered to wait for the results in Azkaban.
Amelia Bones managed to win the slot of Interim Minister.
Harry wrote a brief letter explaining that a properly cast Patronus Line as part of a mansion's ward structure would ensure the beasts stayed out. Dozens of witches and wizards sent him letters of thanks.
Harry laughed long into the night
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