The Warren

By: DarkKing666

Fandom: harry potter

Summary: My dump-space for unfinished and/or abandoned plot bunnies.

Fic type: Books/Harry Potter

Published: 2011-02-13

Last updated: 2019-08-26

Words count: 47,004

Chapters count: 31

Converted using www.FF2EBOOK.com
Date: 2019-09-01

1. Overused Plot Device

I don't own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does, as far as I know.

Authors note: this came up after I read yet another "Harry goes AWOL when he should be at Privet Drive" fanfic plot.

It was a peaceful day at the Order of the Phoenix's "Headquarters" until Nymphadora Tonks tumbled out of the floo, looking panicked.

"Harry is gone! I checked his room this morning and he'd disappeared!"

This statement drew concern from the Order members present. Strangely, Harry's closest friends just glanced at each other before going back to what they were doing.

"What's the matter with you lot? Aren't you worried about poor Harry?" Cried Molly Weasley.

"Not really. It's not like Harry hasn't gone off by himself before." Ron responded.

The adults in the room gaped. "Just what do you mean by that?" Demanded Remus.

Ginny looked at the "smartest witch in Hogwarts". "What do you think, Hermione? Another holiday disguised as Black? Hunting weird creatures with Luna and her younger self again, maybe? Or another case of time travel back to when the Founders created Hogwarts?"

"I'm betting on another tour around the French speaking magical world. Gabrielle is a really determined young witch, and her father is almost as determined at keeping Harry away from her." Was the bushy-haird witch's reply.

"Nah, that's what he did last time. I'm betting he's gone back to that Quidditch Training Camp in the USA that he owns. He loves it there." Was Ron's offering.

"Got to be better than curse-breaking with Bill in South America," Ginny muttered, "he got really beaten up doing that."

Arthur Weasley finally managed to stop gaping (which put him far ahead of the other adults in the room) and managed to ask a question. "You mean Harry's done all this before? When?"

Ron snorted. "Hey, he hasn't spent more than 15 minutes at Privet Drive since he started at Hogwarts. Makes you wonder what the monitors in Dumbledore's office are doing; the blood wards disappeared years ago."

"Not to mention that he's also taken to leaving a clone at Hogwarts to take his lessons for him," Hermione sighed, "some weird magic he picked up in Japan. I'd yell at him for it except that he somehow manages to learn everything his clone learns so he isn't exactly skipping classes."

Ginny decided that the adults in the room were too close to freaking out, and that a full-blown panic attack might delay dinner. "Just relax. Harry will be fine, he's got more than enough friends out there to keep him safe. Plus he's learned more during his little disappearing acts than any of us could learn from Hogwarts. He'll be back on the Express on September 1st, and then we can all pretend that nothing weird has happened. Again."

2. Blood Wards can be REALLY strong

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does as far as I know.

Authors note: Tthis one plays on a common fanfic concept that the Blood Wards at Privet Drive are useless. Maybe they weren't...

Harry was lying on the uncomfortable bed in his room. The house was quiet, which suited Harry just fine. The quiet meant that his "loving" relatives were all out, and weren't disturbing him. Harry wanted to be left alone, as his depression over the loss of Sirius was eating at him.

Being isolated from his friends didn't help. Hermione and Ron had both written stating that not only had they been told to avoid communicating with Harry this summer, but that they were both being denied access to any form of communication at all. Apparently it was for "their own safety" as various adults had decided that fighting Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries might have made Harry's friends targets.

No shit, Sherlock, Harry thought, bitterly. It had only taken a running battle in the Department of Mysteries, the destruction of thousands of prophecies, the death of Sirius Black and a full-blown wizarding duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort in front of Fudge for the magical world to finally wake up to the fact that He-Who-Must-Be-Hyphenated had returned.

Shame it took them over a year to decide that Dumbledore and I weren't being delusional, Harry mused. He was, he thought, justified in his anger and depression. Anger that the wizarding world's insistence on burying its collective head in the sand had cost him so much, depression that his own mistakes had contributed to Sirius' death.

This day in particular had been especially lousy. He'd been woken up early by Vernon shouting at him through the door. Once the insults and threats had been edited out, the message was that the Dursleys were all headed off to visit Aunt Marge and her hellhounds. Apparently dear old Marge refused to visit Privet Drive anymore, not after the little "balloon incident".

When Harry had finally gone downstairs (having waited until he'd heard the car leave), he had discovered that he'd been left with virtually nothing to eat. After an inadequate breakfast of toast and tea, he'd done the chores left for him before returning to his room.

I'll have to signal my watchdog later to get something decent for lunch, Harry thought, my only other option is to starve.

The lack of food that morning, combined with Vernon's shouting and the effort involved in finishing his chores, had left Harry with a headache. Unwilling to put up with anything else making him miserable, he'd broken an unwritten rule of the household and had taken some aspirin from the cabinet in his Aunt's bathroom. Normally this was forbidden, as apparently "good medicine" wasn't to be wasted on "freaks" like Harry.

I just wish the damn aspirin would start working soon, Harry grumbled in his own mind. I haven't had a headache like this since...

Harry suddenly lurched upright. This is no headache! My fucking scar! Shit, Voldemort is nearby!

Across the road from No. 4 Privet Drive, Nymphadora "Don't call me that" Tonks was waiting for her relief. She sighed quietly in satisfaction when she spotted Kingsley Shacklebolt walking towards her.

"The Phoenix burns brightly," Shacklebolt said as he came close to Tonks. At least somebody in this bloody Order can act professionally.

"The Gryffins never waver." As a former Hufflepuff prefect, Tonks was mildly put out that most of the Order of the Phoenix's pass-phrases were biased towards the "house of lions."

"Anything I should know about, Tonks?"

"Nothing major. The Dursleys all left earlier. Harry did some chores before he disappeared back inside. I think we might have to bring him lunch later - from what I could see, his relatives didn't leave much food in the house."

Shacklebolt nodded. Most of the Order members who had been on "Potter watch" had a dim view of the Dursleys. The only exception seemed to be Dung, who spent most of his time sleeping.

"Alright. Well, you better get back to the Ministry. Madam Bones wants - what the hell?"

The attention of both Aurors was immediately shifted to the end of the road, where a burst of magic had suddenly sprung from. It didn't take a genius to figure out what the cause was.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck - Death Eaters! And it looks like they brought their fucking boss with them!" Tonks swore. This was the last thing anybody had expected - if she had thought that Moldy-shorts himself might show, she would have brought some help. Like the entire Auror Corps.

Shacklebolt hastily sent off a Patronus. "I've sent for help, but Dumbledore said he was going on a trip today. C'mon, we've got to get Potter away from here before they - "

Shacklebolt suddenly stopped talking, as the two Aurors felt anti-apparition wards go up. This was quickly followed by anti-portkey wards, and both Aurors knew that the nearest Floo connection was some distance away. Too far when we're facing a fucking Dark Lord, was Tonks' bitter thought.

"We're going to have to run for it. I'll provide a distraction, you grab Potter and go!" Shacklebolt ordered.

Harry was hurriedly searching through his trunk. Ah, there it is! He thought with some relief as he retrieved his wand. Dumbledore had demanded that Harry surrender his wand to the headmaster's safe keeping for the summer, arguing that Harry's best defence was to keep a low profile. Harry had not been so sure, and had managed to slip Dumbledore a prototype of the Weasley Twins' "fake wand" concept. Anybody who tries to use that wand will get a rubber chicken, Harry though with wry amusement.

He quickly assessed the rest of his belongings. Books I can replace, Hedwig is at Hogwarts, my photo album and other valuables are with Hermione - time to get out of here.

Tonks sprinted for the front door of Harry's residence. Shacklebolt was behind her, using a car for shelter. The Death Eaters, with Voldemort in the lead, were moving down the road towards No. 4 quite rapidly. Bastards can move fast when they want to. Getting away from this is going to take a lot of luck.

She kicked in the door as she ran up to it; she didn't want to waste time fumbling with the doorknob when it might be locked.

"HARRY! GET YOUR ARSE IN GEAR! WE GOTTA GO NOW!"

Harry was already halfway down the stairs when he heard Tonks' shout. He ran the last few steps, and saw a rather pale Auror looking nervous.

"How many?" He asked.

"Too many, and the bastard himself is here! We've gotta get out of here, now!"

Harry slipped around Tonks and glanced out the door. "I think we're too late for an escape, Tonks..."

Voldemort was gleeful. The information he had received from Snape indicated that the Boy-Who-Lived was in a sorry state and incapable of defending himself. This had led Voldemort to change his plans and attack Potter early - with the Prophesied Boy dead, there would be nothing left to stand in the way of his conquest. Dumbledore could be dealt with at Voldemort's leisure once his Golden Boy was six feet under.

He noticed somebody crouching behind a car. Probably the brat's bodyguard. One lousy wizard won't be much of an obstacle.

"Attack!" He cried, as he sent a high-powered Confringo at the car. Caught up in the thrill of magic, he didn't notice the mild tingle that ran across his body as he approached No. 4 Privet Drive.

Shacklebolt cursed as the front half of the car he was hiding behind was blasted into scrap. Fortunately the rest of the car stayed stationary. Muggle studies paid off after all, he thought to himself, fuel tank is in the back half of the car and won't rupture too easily. While that eliminated the immediate risk of the car exploding, he knew that another Reducto like the last one would be all that was needed to set the volatile liquid off.

OK, no fucking around with stunners here - try to get as many as I can! With that thought, Shacklebolt leaned out and sent a Confringo towards a group of Death Eaters. He ducked back behind his half-destroyed barricade, and didn't see his spell hit the road and throw several Death Eaters to the ground.

Harry and Tonks both winced as they saw the car explode. Tonks was sure that Shacklebolt had bitten the dust until she saw the smoke clear, revealing the veteran Auror launching a spell back at the Death Eaters.

"Shit! Harry, get out the back and run for it! We'll hold them off as long as possible!"

Harry didn't seem to hear her. He was distracted by something, a feeling of...something. He felt energised, like he could run an entire Marathon and not notice it.

"No way. You'll both be killed, and then they'll catch me anyway. If we get away we'll all have to work together. Let's go!" Harry bounded out of the house before Tonks could even register what he had said. Cursing to herself, she sprinted after him.

I hope reinforcements come soon, or they'll need a sponge to collect our bodies!

Voldemort frowned as several of his Death Eaters were thrown around like rag dolls by the Auror's blasting curse. Damn idiots, I'll have to Crucio them later to remind them to pay attention in a battle!

He sent another Confringo at the car, with the intent of finishing off the pathetic wizard hiding behind. Oddly, it felt harder to form the spell, and the explosion that resulted was a lot less powerful than his first curse. That fight with Dumbledore took more out of me than I thought. No matter, I've power enough to finish these idiots off...

Harry's eyes narrowed as he saw the results of Riddle's second Confringo. He should have vaporised the car with that second shot. Why didn't he put more power behind it?

Deciding that Voldemort was probably playing with the Auror taking shelter behind the wreck, Harry turned his attention to the group of Death Eaters.

Quite a group. No idea how good they are, Shacklebolt's idea of using Confringo seems to be good.

Harry quickly cast the blasting curse at the Death Eaters. "CONFRINGO!"

Tonks watched as Harry sent a blasting curse down range. Good plan, that spell has an area affect, it'll force the Death Eaters to keep their heads dow-

Her thoughts were interrupted as Harry's spell hit the ground near the Death Eaters and subsequently exploded, leaving a crater 2 metres across and a metre deep in the road. Fucking hell, what was that? Since when is Harry that powerful?

Harry seemed to have been stunned by his own spell, so Tonks quickly sent a cutting curse towards one of the Death Eaters on the ground. You knock 'em down, I'll dice 'em up!

Kingsley Shacklebolt was an experienced Auror, and had been in quite a few magical firefights before Voldemort's return. He had seen a number of powerful wizards and witches - many, he admitted, much stronger than himself - in action before. He had seen what high powered spells could do - cutting spells that disembowelled multiple people, stunners that knocked strong men out for days. But he had never seen a Confringo as strong as the one Harry had just cast.

Bloody hellfire, that thing just blasted two Death Eaters to shreds! There's a third one down with only one leg! What the fuck have they been feeding this boy? No breakfast my arse!

Tonks' cutting spell broke him out of his thoughts. Back on the clock, Kingsley...

Voldemort was shocked. Firstly by the power of Potter's spell. He wasn't nearly that strong at the Ministry! Has Dumbledore finally cracked and used a power-boosting ritual on the brat?

There were rituals that could be used to boost the power of a wizard. They were all dark and illegal, as they invariably involved human sacrifice. Voldemort had investigated them once, but had discovered that they were all short-term in nature and usually had long-term damaging effects.

The more unpleasant surprise for the Dark Lord was that Potter had his wand. Snape had assured his Lord that Potter's wand was safely ensconced in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts. It was that information that had given Voldemort the confidence to attack Potter early - he had been reluctant to force any encounters after the Priori Incantatem effect they had seen at the graveyard.

Snape will pay for this deceit! Nothing for it but to push on - even with brother wands, two pathetic Aurors and a half-starved child can't defeat me!

Harry shook off his momentary shock and ran to try and find cover. What happened to make that Confringo so strong? I've never seen anything like that before!

A spell flashed by his head, forcing his concentration back to the battle at hand. He saw several Death Eaters down and bleeding badly; Harry assumed that the cutting spells from Tonks and Shacklebolt were working. He cast his own cutting spell, slashing to try and hit as many Death Eaters as possible.

Tonks shuddered as the most over-powered cutting spell she had ever seen sliced through half a dozen Death Eaters at once. The spell continued down the street and succeeded in downing a power pole before it was stopped by a parked van. Something weird is going on - Harry's casting at a level to rival the Headmaster!

Apparently Voldemort wasn't going to let Potter's display of power distract him, as the Dark Lord quickly replied with his trademark spell.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Tonks saw the green spell heading towards Harry, and quickly summoned a chunk of the car Shack was hiding behind to try and block it. She was amazed when the Killing Curse was stopped handily - the metal melted a bit but didn't explode. Isn't he supposed to be stronger than this?

Voldemort's frustration was increasing. Not only was the brat casting at a level that should have been impossible, but his own spells seemed to be down on power. Finish this fast before Potter decides to use his power-boost to do more damage to my followers.

Voldemort had always kept himself fit and athletic, recognising the value of mobility in a duel. He had spent most of the year between his rebirth and the battle at the Ministry getting himself back into shape - his new body had required extensive work before he was confident about heading into battle. Coupled with wandless magic that helped speed his actions, the Dark Lord was capable of moving rapidly over a battlefield. This had helped him win on many occasions, as had been able to surprise his enemies by appearing where they didn't expect him.

Voldemort sprinted directly at Potter, casting another killing curse at close range.

Harry saw Voldemort move at an inhuman pace directly at him, and barely had time to register that Riddle had cast another killing curse in his direction. Reacting on instinct, he cast a spell back to try and block the incoming hex. "EXPELLIARMUS!"

Tonks and Shacklebolt had heard Dumbledore talk about the Priori Incantantem effect that brother wards could have, but neither had seen it before. The dome appeared rapidly, and they saw the two spells dueling for control. C'mon Harry, you can do it! Beat that fucker into the ground!

Inside the dome, Harry and Voldemort were in somewhat familiar territory. Both remembered what had happened at the graveyard, and both could hear the Phoenix song that had manifested the first time. On this occasion, however, it felt different to both participants.

Harry felt like he was drawing on a practically unlimited reservoir of power, completely different to his previous experience with this kind of confrontation. At the graveyard he'd been tired from the maze and from Cruciatus exposure, and had barely been able to hold his own against the more experienced wizard. Now, however, he felt like he could do this for hours. He steadily pushed his magic, trying to force the spell back into Voldemort's wand.

Voldemort, on the other hand, was close to panic. He hadn't felt this weak and helpless since he had left the orphanage. He was putting everything he had into his wand, but he could feel his power being pushed back steadily.

Tonks watched as the glowing ball that marked the point where the two conflicting spells met moved relentlessly towards Voldemort. Great Merlin! Harry just might win this!

Suddenly Voldemort seemed to falter, and the nexus of power surged back into his wand. The Dark Lord screamed as his wand exploded, but it didn't stop there. The golden light seemed to burn its way through his arm and into his chest, until it exploded. Both Tonks and Shacklebolt were temporarily blinded by the sudden burst of light, and didn't see Harry fall to the ground clutching his forehead.

At Hogwarts, Snape suddenly clutched at his left arm and screamed as if somebody were cutting it off with a rusty saw. A Hogwarts house-elf who had been assisting the Potions Master with the brewing of Skele-Gro for the Hogwarts Infirmary stared as her master dropped to the ground in agony, before it popped away to get help.

Dumbledore was at the Gaunt house, and finally had the Gaunt family ring in sight. Evaded or bypassed all the wards and traps so far, now to grab the ring and get back to Hogwarts.

Suddenly, the ring seemed to glow. Dumbledore barely had time to get a protective barrier up before the dark artefact exploded, sending shrapnel across the room.

In a Gringotts vault, a cup bearing the Hufflepuff coat of arms suddenly detonated.

In the Room of Requirements at Hogwarts, Lady Ravenclaw's diadem blew up.

At the Malfoy Manor, where Voldemort had temporarily set up his headquarters, a giant snake known as Nagini thrashed around as it felt itself burning up. Nobody nearby noticed it spontaneously burn to a cinder, as they were all clutching at their Dark Marks as they seemed to burn with all the pain of the Cruciatus.

At Number 12 Grimmauld Place, a locket in a display cabinet exploded, shattering the glass and attacting the attention of the residents of the house.

Back at Privet Drive, Tonks and Shacklebolt finally recovered enough to take in the situation. They same a few burning rags that seemed to be all that was left of Voldemort. Further down the street, the remaining Death Eaters were all lying on the ground, apparently unconscious. Harry Potter was unconscious on the ground in front of them, apparently bleeding from his forehead. Shacklebolt quickly cast a charm and found that the anti-apparition wards had fallen with Voldemort.

"I'll take the Death Eaters, you get Harry to Hogwarts!" Shacklebolt ordered. Tonks gulped and nodded, and created a portkey for the Hogwarts grounds. Grabbing Harry, she activated it.

More notes: This update mostly just makes the formatting a bit more tidy. I also fixed some of the spell references to be a bit more canon-compliant.

3. The Apathy Cup

I don't own Harry Potter. Or any of the other characters used here.

Dumbledore's eyes had their customary twinkle as he looked at the traditional end of year feast. The students were gathered at their house tables, apparently enjoying the food and talking animatedly. Smiling to himself, the aged Headmaster stood up and shot off some sparks to get everyone's attention.

"Well, it has been another enjoyable year here at Hogwarts..." he began, using "End-of-year Speech No. 6" this time around. He had eight in total, enough that no student ever heard the same one twice...unless they became staff members. Pity those who did.

Dumbledore's speech was short and to the point. The usual 3 second "highlights of the year" coverage (mostly Quidditch related), some cryptic comments that some interpreted as pearls of wisdom but most considered to be pure bollocks, and then to the important part.

"...and now, it is my happy role to announce the winner of this year's House Cup. In fourth place, with-" Dumbledore stopped mid-sentence as three quarters of the Hall's occupants suddenly turned back to their food. The room became noisy again as the students of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff all resumed their conversations.

Dumbledore frowned. While he wasn't the strictest of disciplinarians, this kind of disrespect just wasn't acceptable. Gesturing with his wand, he let off a "cannon blast" spell to quiet the hall. Conversation stopped again, as everyone returned their attention to the Supreme Mugwump.

"As I was saying, in fourth place with-" Dumbledore again stopped before he could announce that Hufflepuff had managed, for the fifth year in a row, to come fourth. The reason was the same - with the exception of those in House Slytherin, nobody was paying the slightest bit of attention to anything except their food or the conversations at their table.

Another cannon blast, and Dumbledore tried for the third time to announce the House Cup results. "Ahem. In fourth place-" The Headmaster was cut off by 75% of the students suddenly ignoring him in order to talk to their neighbours. Albus glanced at his fellow staff-members, and saw that they all apparently agreed with his disapproval of this blatant show of bad manners.

The problem was that there wasn't much the staff could do. Albus had already used two cannon-blast spells to bring attention to himself, and it was obvious that the student body just didn't care. The feast itself was all but over,
meaning that they couldn't threaten to ban anyone from the food. And as it was the end of the year, there was no chance to assign detentions.

Dumbledore decided to continue on regardless of the background noise. "In fourth place is Hufflepuff, with 200 points. In third place is..." He rattled off the point summaries, fully aware that the only people paying even the
slightest bit of attention were the Slytherins. When he finally announced that Slytherin had won the cup for the fifth year in a row, the cheers from the Slytherin table went without comment as the other three houses seemed more
interested in discussing the upcoming summer holiday. Fuming internally, Dumbledore decided to do the one thing he could to discipline the misbehaving students.

"Thank you. And now, in closing, I would like all students in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff to meet with their Heads of Houses in their respective common rooms after this feast is over."

Sitting down again, Albus caught the eyes of Minerva, Filius and Pomona. He didn't need to say anything - they already knew that they would have to get to the bottom of this disgraceful event before the students went home.

The students had left the castle, and now the Headmaster was in his office. In attendance were all four Heads of House, none of whom looked particularly happy.

Albus finally let his irritation show. "Right, now what in the name of Merlin was behind that appalling display at the Feast? I do hope that at least some explanation was given?"

Minerva, Filius and Pomona exchanged glances before the Head of Ravenclaw spoke up. "The reason my 'claws gave me, Albus, is that they have no interest in the House Cup at all. They said it is a complete waste of everybody's time, and that ignoring it was the best way of getting their message across."

Pomona nodded. "My 'puffs said much the same thing. They told me that the Cup is meaningless, and that they had decided that paying any attention was a pointless exercise."

Dumbledore was thunderstruck. "What do they mean, the House Cup is pointless? It has been the cornerstone of the House system since Hogwarts was founded!"

Minerva decided that it was time to add her two knuts' worth. "My students told me that House Cup is completely broken, Albus. When I asked what they meant, they said that the staff in this school are hopelessly biased and as such only one house can ever win. Because of this, they've decided that the only House competition worth trying for is the Quidditch Cup, as it is won by skill alone with a minimum of cheating."

As one, the Heads of Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor all turned and glared at Severus Snape. He just snorted in response.

"Now, Minerva, I know that Snape's methods are unusual, but-" Began Albus.

"Unusual be damned! His bias and discrimination is an absolute disgrace, Albus! In the five years that he's been here, he has managed to completely erode any
faith the students have in the House system!" Interjected Professor Sprout, earning herself a glare from the Head of House Slytherin.

"The Slytherins have a bad reputation following the unfortunate events of a few years ago, and need special handling-" Dumbledore tried again.

"Special handling? You're creating a generation of spoilt brats! The Slytherins graduating this year are firmly convinced that they deserve to have everything handed to them on a silver plate because of their house affiliation! You aren't doing anything except to make the gulf between the Slytherins and the other houses even larger!" Filius burst out.

After that the argument degenerated into a shouting match with Snape on one side and his fellow Heads of Houses on the other. In the end, nothing was resolved and everybody went away feeling angry.

A/N: Inspired by an idea floated by Sarah1281.

4. Sauce for the Goose

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters contained here-in.

A/N: A follow-up to the "Apathy Cup" I posted earlier. This, to me, is the logical outcome of the situation.

Albus Dumbledore would never admit it, but beneath his twinkly exterior he was immensely relieved. He had been stressed lately - frankly, he hadn't been this stressed since Voldemort died. And for once in his life his trouble had not been caused by a Dark Lord.

The issue was that since the end of the previous school year, his senior staff had been engaged in some of the ugliest arguments (some of which were better described as screaming matches) ever seen in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.
More than one portrait of a previous Headmaster had commented that they had never seen the staff so divided in all their time at the school. One had even congratulated Dumbledore for arranging to provide the portraits with so much entertainment.

It wasn't as if Albus didn't know what the problem was. In essence, Snape's blatant favouritism towards his own house (and discrimination against the other three) had finally pushed his fellow staff members over the line. Though it had taken the disgraceful display by the departing students at the last Leaving Feast to bring the issue to a head - once it was obvious that the students didn't think the House Points system was worth a tin sickle, the staff were forced to examine the reason why.

The "reason" was obvious, and even had a name. Severus Snape.

So much had been apparent at the meeting Dumbledore had thrown after the students had departed. What had kicked off the long-running dispute was that Snape refused to change his methods and Albus didn't want to interfere. Naturally, the heads of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were not happy.

The arguments had continued right up until the staff departed for their own summer holidays. It had kicked up again as soon as they returned to prepare for the new academic year. Albus had despaired for the education of the students, but it seemed that a cease-fire had been called on the 31st of August. Since then, there had been no arguments...though Snape's reception at staff meetings could at best be described as "chilly".

Dumbledore did not want to reveal his real reasons for not reining in his Potions Professor. His public reason was that the bad reputation surrounding the House of Snakes following Voldemort's reign of terror required special handling in order to avoid alienating all Slytherin students permanently.

The real reason was complex. In part it was due to Dumbledore's guilt over how Snape had been treated during his time as a student at Hogwarts. Albus still regretted that he had never intervened to make life easier for the Half-Blood
Prince, and often wondered if he could have prevented young Severus from ever joining the Dark Lord if he had.

The larger part, however, was that Dumbledore wanted Snape to be in a position where he could act as a spy in the camp of those who supported Voldemort. The Dark Lord would return, Albus was sure of it, and he wanted a source of
information to be ready to go from the start. As such he kept Snape in the one position that he knew would allow Snape to remain in Pureblood circles. As an apparent confidant of the Leader of the Light, Snape was useful to the likes of
Lucius Malfoy as a potential spy. Take that away and Snape was suddenly just another Potions Master - albeit a brilliant one. Sadly, Malfoy and his ilk did not respect talent like that, only position.

Of course, Dumbledore would sooner run buck-naked through an Acromantula colony before he would admit any of this to anybody. And he would certainly never inform his staff of just why he tolerated Snape's behaviour, even if several of them had served the Order of the Phoenix faithfully when Voldemort was still alive.

The frustrating thing was that Snape had to be this biased in order to curry favour with the darker elements of Pureblood society (who were all Slytherin alumni). Apparently the Pureblood elites felt that there was no point in having
a position if you couldn't exploit it, therefore Snape was to do everything he could to make sure that Slytherin retained its rightful position...on top of the other three houses.

It hadn't actually occurred to Albus that maybe Snape didn't have to be quite so extreme, and that the real cause of the bias and discrimination was actually Snape's foul disposition and the enormous chip on his shoulder that threatened to turn him into a hunchback.

It was the beginning of October, and Albus was puzzled. The House points were...odd. A summary of the day's points movements was available to the Headmaster on request, but up until recently he had never bothered to check. The events of the Leaving Feast had caused him to at least check every once in a while. And what he saw left the Supreme Mugwump confused.

Normally, points shifted in small increments - five points at a time, either positive or negative. Individually it wasn't much, but over the entire student body these small rewards (or penalties) added up.

This year, however, it seemed that large movements were the rule. 50 points at a time was not unusual, and there were even a few 100 point changes - unheard of in the history of Hogwarts...for a single student, at least.

The reporting system was not sophisticated enough to tell Dumbledore exactly what was going on - he could not see who was awarding or taking points or the stated reasons for these changes. Those were all recorded in the Hogwarts House Cup Register, an enormous tome secured in a hidden room of the Library. It was said to have been enchanted by Rowena Ravenclaw herself, and it automatically tracked every single points change in Hogwarts. Nobody ever looked at it thanks to the gigantic size - even opening the book required two people and a step-ladder. Nevertheless, Dumbledore decided that a proper investigation was required. He asked an elf to bring a step-ladder to the Library, and set off to ask Madam Pince for help with the enormous book.

Albus eyed the three people sitting in his office. It hadn't taken very long with the Cup Register to determine that the unusual activity was arising from the actions of Minerva McGonnagal, Filius Flitwick and Pomona Sprout. Well, and Severus Snape, but Albus dismissed that as the Head of Slytherin being himself.

"Would any of you three care to explain just what is going on with the House points this year?" Dumbledore asked with just a trace of acidity.

Minerva answered promptly. "It is simple, Albus. Since you have not seen fit to ensure that there is a level playing field here in Hogwarts, we have acted to level it ourselves."

"What do you mean by that?" The aged Headmaster asked with a gimlet eye.

Flitwick spoke up. "We're just emulating our esteemed colleague. If unjustified point reductions for houses other than your own and biased point awards for your own house are acceptable for House Slytherin, we have decided that they're good enough for us as well."

Dumbledore paled slightly. "What...?"

Professor Sprout cut him off. "We all met the day before the students returned here, and we've decided on a strategy to deal with Snape's despicable bias. All of us will favour our own houses just as Snape favours Slytherin. We will be scrupulously fair to the other houses, except for Slytherin...where will will be just as biased and unfair as Snape is to our own houses."

Flitwick spoke again before Albus could get a word in edgewise. "In that way we level things. Snape's unfair point reductions are cancelled by our own unfair point awards. Likewise, the unjustified point awards given to Slytherin by the
Potions Professor are removed by our own actions. In this way the playing field has been returned to a level state."

Minerva nodded. "It is true. The current point totals are where they would normally be if all staff in this school acted fairly and without bias. It is sad that we've had to blatantly game the system to achieve this result, but there you go."

Dumbledore wasn't sure if he was angry or lost in admiration. Still, this just wasn't acceptable.

"You can't do this! You'll completely alienate everybody in Slytherin-"

Filius cut him off. "They're already alienated, Headmaster. They were alienated by Snape. His blatant bias caused students in the other three houses to hate Slytherins for their privileged status. This ruined any chance a Slytherin student may have had for making friends outside of their own house. Furthermore, the unfair system has made Slytherin students feel that their house affiliation means that they deserve privileged treatment - and that the other houses are somehow inferior. Whatever we do at this point cannot make the situation worse, as Snape has already done a brilliant job at turning every non-Snake in this school against his own house."

Seeing that Albus was going to try and pull the morality card, Minerva decided to pre-empt him. "You created this situation, Albus. You allowed Snape to run riot with the House points and this is the result. Students in Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw all resent those in Slytherin for the unfair treatment. Slytherins have all developed a superiority complex thanks to being spoilt. We cannot change those attitudes so long as Snape refuses to act in a fair manner - all we can do is try our best to prevent him from stealing the House Cup. If you want real change, your first step should be to force Snape to stop favouring Slytherin the way he has. Until then this school will remain divided."

5. Nine Princes in Hogwarts

I don't own Harry Potter or the Chronicles of Amber. If I did I would be a lot richer than I am.

Dumbledore's serene visage was familiar to all who had met him, but today his closest colleagues could see signs of the great stress the old wizard must be feeling. After all, it wasn't every day that a student's guardian turned up to issue a personal "please explain" message...and actually had enough clout to make the Headmaster listen.

"OK, let's take this from the top. The Triwizard Tournament is an inter-school competition that has been around for some time, correct?"

Dumbledore just nodded.

"Fine. And it has been dormant for the past century or two?"

Dumbledore was tempted to give the exact period of time involved, but decided that pedantry wasn't advisable. So he just nodded again.

"And according to everything that's been written about the Tournament, it was abandoned because the casualty rate was too high?"

Bagman decided that it was time to intervene. "Well, not exactly..." He trailed off as Dumbledore's interrogator turned his full attention on him. It was distinctly unpleasant, as it gave the impression that Bagman was being sized up for a coffin.

"So, in spite of this you bring it back this year. But to make it more attractive in the eyes of the public, you restrict it to students who are adults in the eyes of the law. You enforce this restriction with a magical barrier that screens on the basis of age. Correct?"

"Oui, zat is correct." Madame Maxime's accent was more pronounced than usual, thanks to the tense atmosphere.

"And yet...when my ward discovers that his name has not only been entered but has also been chosen - as the fourth participant in a three-person competition - you not only ignore your age restriction, but force him to compete?"

"Actually, it is the magical contract created by the Goblet of Fire that is forcing young Harry to compete..." Dumbledore started.

His interrogator interrupted. "That's Lord Potter to you, Headmaster. And as far as I'm concerned, magical artifacts that force people into doing things they don't want to do should be destroyed. Then it couldn't enforce this so-called "contract" you keep rabbiting about."

Dumbledore struggled to keep his internal panic hidden. He didn't know that it was as clear as day to Harry's guardian. "That would endanger all of the participants involved. We cannot take that risk."

There was a snort of disbelief. "So you say. Obviously withdrawing Harry from this useless competition isn't something you're willing to entertain, so let's talk about damage control. First of all, why hasn't anybody made a public announcement that Harry did not enter himself into the Tournament and is, in fact, the victim of a conspiracy?"

Snape's sarcastic drawl entered the conversation. "We don't know that. The egotistical brat might have done it, and is now denying it to keep out of trouble-"

Unfortunately for the Hogwarts Professor of Potions, his favourite activity of deriding the son of James Potter was interrupted by the appearance of a sword at his throat. "I've heard plenty about you from my ward, and I'm not impressed. Say another word about him and I'll redecorate this office with an interesting colour called Hint of Greasy Git."

There was a short silence, broken by Dumbledore. "I think Mr Bagman will be making an announcement to the press to the effect that Lord Potter's involvement in the Tournament is against his will." Bagman nodded hurriedly. "I will make a similar announcement to the school population at dinner this evening. Is that acceptable?"

The sword lowered, and the glare returned to the aged Headmaster. "It'll do for a start. Now to address the fact that as a fourth year student, Harry is at a disadvantage when compared to his competitors."

Minerva McGonagall wasn't convinced that Harry was actually all that far behind his fellow Champions, but decided that antagonising this man was a bad idea. "Do you have a suggestion?"

This brought a smile, the first the visitor had given since entering Dumbledore's office. "Why, yes I do. I've read this bloody rule book, and as far as I can tell the only thing that Harry is compelled to do is participate. That's all that the magical contract enforces."

"So?" Karkaroff asked.

"So everything else in this book," The man waved a copy of the Tournament rules with some contempt, "is only enforceable by the judges. And that means that these rules are flexible."

The judges in question wanted to argue that the rules were the same as those used in previous Tournaments, and that there was no flexibility at all to be found in them. Common sense, however, dictated that the man with a large sword and a willingness to use it (plus a remarkable immunity to magic that had been discovered by one unfortunate auror) had a very good point.

Even if that point was mostly at the end of said sword.

"So. Harry will be allowed extra coaching from external teachers. He will also be allowed to use any equipment that those external teachers deem necessary. It is up to you to decide if the other competitors, who are actually old enough to compete, will be allowed the same considerations."

"What if we decide that the rules should apply equally to all, and are not flexible?" Dumbledore asked, wondering if there was room to compromise.

"Then I'll take to that bloody Goblet of yours with my sword, consequences be damned. My sister tells me that Harry will not be harmed by the wretched cup's destruction, and I find it hard to care about any possible backlash that may hit the other so-called Champions. That's my position. If you really want to escalate things I'll invite some real experts to examine the Goblet and figure out exactly how it has bound my ward and precisely how to undo it."

Dumbledore paused, before he nodded. "In that case I think we must accept. Harry will be allowed training from external teachers, and will be permitted to use any items that those teachers deem necessary. I will ask that Harry's teachers inform the judges of any equipment that they provide Harry."

"I'll ask them, but I can tell you now that they'll inform you only if they think you need to know." Harry's guardian replied.

Dumbledore nodded. There's a lot to be said about negotiating from a position of strength, he thought, and right now all the strength lies with the person I'm negotiating with.

"Very well, we accept. Mr...?" Dumbledore trailed off.

"Corwin. Prince Corwin, to you."

6. Classroom control charms

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Harry Potter franchise or IP. And if you really needed to read this disclaimer to know that little factoid, please refrain from handling sharp objects.

Scene: the 1st year Charms class where Our Heroes learn "Wingardium Leviosa".

Ron waved his wand and tried again. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The feather remained on the desk, motionless. Ron just looked frustrated while Harry read through the prescribed textbook to see if there was anything that might help.

Hermione was just taking breath to "help" Ron when Professor Flitwick suddenly appeared by their desk.

"No, Mr Weasley, you are stressing the wrong syllables there. It is important to pronounce the spell correctly, otherwise it simply won't work. Worse, it might cast a different spell which you aren't prepared for. Now, once again: wing-GAR-dee-um LEV-ee-OH-suh!"

Ron tried again, and this time the feather moved about an inch above the desk before gravity took over.

"Well done, Mr Weasley! Just keep practicing and you'll be able to hold the spell for long periods." The Professor said.

Just as the diminutive Charms Professor was about to move off, Harry caught his attention. "What is it, Mr Potter?"

"I just wanted to know something. You were on the opposite side of the classroom when Ron tried this spell, and it is quite noisy in here. How did you hear his mistake from that distance?"

"Ah, there's the trick of teaching this subject, Mr Potter. It is true that I can't possibly listen to everybody at once while you're all practicing, so I developed a charm that would allow me to pick up errors quickly. I have it set up in this room all the time - it informs me whenever somebody is making a
significant error, allowing me to assist those who truly need help. You can also use a variation of the spell to help you practice - it provides feedback on the most basic charms that we cover in 1st year."

Harry blinked. "That sounds useful. What is the charm called, sir?"

"Why, spell-check. What else?"

7. Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Inspired by one of Lucinda's "Pottery Shards", story id: 5665736 (chapter 2)

I advise you to read that piece before this one. Here's my take on the scenario.

Contrary to the perceptions of the great unwashed, most negotiations between important magical families did not take place at Gringotts. While Gringotts did offer conference facilities, the fees charged for the rooms were more than just a bit expensive. Most important meetings were held in the private manors of the families involved, though there was the occasional "tense" meeting that might be held on a property owned by a neutral third party.

For Harry Potter, however, there was only one choice for the meeting he was attending today. Attending, ha, Harry had called this meeting himself, which meant that he was also supposed to be setting the agenda. Invitations had been issued to the Noble House of Malfoy (apparently they weren't Ancient yet, for all that they had records of members attending Hogwarts for the past 500 years), the House of Tonks (Ted Tonks had been surprised to be addressed as the Head of his family) and the House of Greengrass (Harry had heard that they couldn't be bothered spending the money required to get "Noble" in front of their name).

The nature of the attendees demanded not only a neutral venue, but one with added security. While Harry did not fear for his own health, he would rather that any temptation to use violence be quashed early. As such, he had made use of his status and booked a conference room at the Ministry of Magic.

Even had he not been the Hero-Who-Conquered (the latest set of hyphens the press had seen fit to force on him), Harry would have been entitled to the use of Ministry facilities thanks to his status as the Head of two Noble and Most Ancient Houses. The archaic nature of the Wizengamot meant that Lords like Harry could basically use a lot of the Ministry facilities as an extension of their own property - there were even private apartments set aside for individual families (Harry had inspected the Black Apartments and found that they lived up to their name). Naturally, privileges like these annoyed hard-working Ministry employees, who claimed that office space was so limited that they were doing the equivalent of "hot bunking" with their desks.

Not that this concerned Harry at the moment. He had picked out the conference room that was right in the heart of the Auror offices, primarily to ensure that the meeting attendees would feel constrained by the thought of heavily armed (and annoyed) Aurors being just outside the door.

Harry had arrived early, and had taken his position at the head of the long conference table. This seat also faced the door, which he knew was not an accident. Harry set his papers in front of his chair but did not yet sit down - custom required him to be standing to greet the other attendees as they arrived and he decided to save his legs a bit of effort.

Next to arrive was Nymphadora Tonks. Ted Tonks had sent word that neither he or his wife could attend, and that Nymphadora would be his representative. Said representative was in her full Auror uniform - the dress version for formal occasions, not her everyday work uniform.

"Hello Tonks. How are you?" Harry greeted the Metamorphmagus with a smile.

Tonks grinned back. "I'm fine, but you do realise that every Auror out there is pissed off that you've taken this room, don't you?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Really? I had no idea that the Aurors had so many meetings on a daily basis."

Tonks' grin turned evil. "They don't. Most of the senior Aurors have taken to holding 'team meetings' at lunch time, as that allows them to get lunch in on the department budget. Your booking is for the entire day, so they're all going to have to pay for their own lunch for a change."

Harry made a mental note to look into the information that Tonks had just revealed. He knew that the Aurors were still infested with old Fudge cronies and Death Eater sympathisers, so any excuse to carve out the fat would be useful. Something else to talk over with Neville, he decided.

Neville Longbottom had been invaluable for this particular event. After his initial meeting with Daphne Greengrass, Harry had asked his fellow Gryffindor alumni for help regarding the issue. The result had been three days of Neville attempting to cram 14 years of political, social and ettiquette training down Harry's throat. In the end Neville had Harry at a point that he said was "acceptable", and let Harry go on condition that he return for "further education". The Boy-Who-Lived-In-A-Cupboard-For-Most-Of-His-Childhood wasn't looking forward to it, for all that he knew it was essential.

Harry just nodded to Tonks, before gesturing to the table. "Take a seat, anywhere. There's no assigned seating today, so first come best served."

The young Auror nodded, before taking the chair to the right of Harry's. Harry raised his other eyebrow, and was about to comment when the door opened again to reveal the Greengrass family. Harry promptly let his facial expression relax into what Neville described as a "negotiating expression", though Hermione had promptly called it a "poker face".

Apparently, Mr Greengrass was taking this meeting extremely seriously, as he had arrived with not only his entire immediate family, but also a lawyer. Harry recognised Mr Bernard Wise from the legal firm that he had been dealing with recently, though he had never engaged Wise in a professional matter.

"Mr Greengrass, a pleasure to meet you at last." Harry said, offering his hand in a manner that Neville had coached him on.

Michael Greengrass hesitated briefly, before he took Harry's hand. "Likewise, my Lord. I do hope that this meeting is productive for all concerned." Harry noted the formal statement that ultimately revealed nothing, even as the expression on the man's face spoke volumes. He's very worried, and I don't blame him.

"Please, be seated." Harry gestured at the table again. The Greengrass delegation hesitated again, before occupying the seats to Harry's immediate left. Daphne Greengrass shot Harry an undecipherable look, before she turned to her sister and started a conversation about possible career paths following Astoria's NEWTs.

Ten minutes passed before the Malfoys arrived. Draco strode in first, acting as if he owned the place. He got that from his father, who basically did own this place. Unfortunately, Draco, your old man is dead and incinerated, and you don't have nearly the influence here that you might think your name entitles you to. Narcissa Malfoy looked bored, though Harry could tell that she was slightly embarassed by the attitude displayed by her son.

"Lord Malfoy, good of you to join us." Harry said formally, offering his hand again. Draco grasped it briefly, but made no reply. Instead, he turned to look at the Greengrass family with a slightly predatory gleam in his eyes. Not fully versed in your traditions, Malfoy? Or do you just not realise the true nature of today's event? Harry pondered.

Harry greeted Narcissa briefly, noticing that she was on the ball when it came to the proper forms. The Chosen One then moved to his place at the head of the table, leaving Narcissa to take a seat next to Nymphadora Tonks while Draco sat opposite Astoria.

"Thank you, one and all, for your presence here. This meeting is to determine the future of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, especially as to how it relates to agreements struck with other families in previous years."

"Really, Potter? Then what are you doing here?" Draco asked in a dismissive tone. Harry simply stared at him calmly.

"I see that you are not aware of all the pertinent facts. As of the 15th of March of the year 1996, Sirius Black formally adopted me as his heir and successor. After his death in June of that same year, the position of Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black fell to me."

"Impossible! That blood traitor was disowned!" Draco half-shouted.

"Walburga Black did indeed blast his name from the Family Tree, but that was purely symbolic. She did not have the power or authority to expel Sirius Black from the family, as she was not the Head of the House. As Sirius' father never did anything to change his status, Sirius was still a member of the family. As the most senior male member following the death of Orion Black in 1979, Sirius became the de facto Lord Black."

"What about his conviction for murder?" This question came from Mr Greengrass.

"He was never convicted. Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban without trial. The Ministry is currently working to determine what compensation is now owed to the Black Family for this flagrant violation of the law." Harry replied. He noted that nobody seemed at all surprised except for Astoria Greengrass.

"To avoid protracted argument, I contacted the legal firm that was charged with handling Sirius Black's will. Mr Frank Morecombe has been very helpful, and has filed all the necessary paperwork with the Ministry to have me recognised as the new Lord Black."

Mr Wise raised an eyebrow. "I knew Frank was handling the will, but I had no idea that it related to you, Lord Potter."

Harry just nodded. "I am given to understand that the firm of Morecombe & Wise has been the Black Family's legal representatives for over a century now. Your colleague provided excellent service, and even went to the trouble to contact the Magical Office at the College of Arms to confirm my new position. They were kind enough to provide me with this."

Harry raised his left hand, where the Family Ring of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was firmly in place on his ring finger.

Draco sputtered a bit, before he managed to regain his powers of speech. "What about Gringotts? Have you asked them about the will?"

"My dear Lord Malfoy, you appear to be labouring under a misapprehension. Gringotts is a bank, and has no authority outside of the financial services they provide. Their only involvement with wills is as a secure place to store them. The Goblins have no interest at all in the legal processes that surround inheritance. The only interested parties are the Ministry and the College of Arms."

Draco flushed at the mild rebuke. Everyone else struggled to keep smirks, smiles and grins off their faces.

"Now that my position as the new Lord Black has been established, there are two important matters at hand. The first pertains to the House of Tonks - I believe you are here as the official representative of the Tonks family, Nymphadora?"

Nymphadora Tonks gritted her teeth at the use of her given name, and managed to suppress her instinctive demand to not use it. "That is correct, Lord Black."

"When your mother married Ted Tonks, she was officially cast out of the Black Family. This was due to the prevailing attitude of the Blacks at the time towards first generation wizards."

Harry noticed that the Greengrass family was studying Tonks with interest. They're wondering how this might affect them.

"I find those attitudes to be abhorrent. That kind of thinking led to the recent difficulties that have beset the magical world, and there is no room for those views either now or in the future."

Nobody saw fit to comment that the "difficulties" had led to the extinction of no less than three pureblood families, as well as the deaths of a large number of Wizengamot members. The repercussions were still being worked through, and it was expected that the fallout would be felt for years.

"As such, I hereby restore Andromeda Tonks, née Black, to full membership of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. This means that Nymphadora Tonks is also considered to be a member of the Black Family." Harry stood up and handed over a rolled up parchment to Nymphadora. As she stood up to take it, he walked over and kissed her on both cheeks - an important bit of symbolism, according to Neville. Tonks blushed heavily, but otherwise made no comment.

Harry sat down, and resumed. "The other bit of business to be considered today is an old arrangement between the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and the House of Greengrass. I am given to understand that there is an arranged marriage organised, as part of a larger agreement."

Mr Greengrass nodded. "That is correct, Lord Black."

"Very well. Now, according to the information I have, Daphne Greengrass is already betrothed to Theodore Nott, and as such is not eligible for this arrangement."

Mr Wise decided to take over at this point. "That is correct Lord Black, and I have here documents to support the arrangement between the House of Greengrass and the..." He drifted off as Harry waved at him.

"No need, Mr Wise, your word and the word of Mr Greengrass is enough. I will not stand in the way of a marriage that is apparently greatly desired by both the participants and the families involved."

Daphne Greengrass looked slightly relieved. She was safe, even if Astoria's future still hung in the balance.

"Now, to the agreement itself. I have consulted extensively with Mr Morecombe regarding the nature of such arrangements, in order that I might fully understand what is involved. In the course of our investigation into this particular agreement, we discovered something that is particularly relevant."

"What is that, my Lord?" Mr Greengrass asked nervously.

"The agreement is the result of the Greengrass Family approaching the Black Family for both a business arrangement as well as services performed in the Wizengamot. As such, in this case the House of Greengrass are supplicants to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

"That is my understanding of the agreement," Mr Wise stated, "but how is this relevant to us today?"

Harry smiled. "The rules regarding these inter-family arrangements are fairly loose, and most are custom rather than law. Mr Morecombe discovered that as the Head of the petitioned House, I have a great deal of leeway in how I manage the conclusion of the pact."

"What kind of leeway?" Narcissa Malfoy asked. It was her first contribution to the discussion, and Harry noticed that she was looking faintly amused.

"In short, it is up to me to accept any potential candidates for the arranged marriage. I can specify which Greengrass daughter is to be married, as well as to which member of the Black Family said daughter will be wed to. But I can go futher..."

"Do tell." Mr Wise said blandly.

"All other aspects of the arrangement have been fulfilled already. The Black Family has rendered the services and favours asked for, and the Greengrass Family has made business arrangements and payments as required. The only outstanding aspect is the marriage."

"And?" Daphne asked. She seemed to know where this was going.

"It is entirely within my power to declare the payment received by the Black Family to be sufficient already. While it may seem that I am retroactively dictating terms, in this case I am not making new demands but simply declaring that old ones are no longer applicable. As such, I declare that the pact between the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and the House of Greengrass has been satisfactorily concluded, and that the arranged marriage is no longer required. I thank the House of Greengrass for their part in this pact, and wish them well in the future."

Draco Malfoy looked livid. "You can't do that!"

"Oh yes I can, Lord Malfoy, and there is nothing you can do to stop me." Harry interjected forcefully, cutting off Draco's impending rant. "I'm afraid you'll have to find a bride on your own. I know that the Noble House of Malfoy has no outstanding marriage contracts, and I'll be damned if I'll let you take advantage of any on the Black side of the family. Be thankful I'm not casting you out of the family for your past Death Eater activities."

Draco bristled and started to draw his wand, only to discover that Nymphadora Tonks already had hers out and trained on him. "Drawing your wand in anger, right in the heart of the Auror offices? My, you are confident, Lord Malfoy."

Draco paused, before he withdrew his hand from his wand and stormed out of the room. Narcissa rose slowly, and moved towards the door at a more dignified pace. As she reached the door, she paused and turned to face Harry.

"Well done, my Lord. We really must talk again soon, in private. There are a great many matters pertaining to the Black and Malfoy Families that require our joint attention."

Harry nodded. "I'll try to make time for you soon, Lady Malfoy. Please be aware, however, that I will be very busy for the next few months." Mostly taking lessons from Neville on how to handle this kind of crap.

Narcissa nodded. "Until later then, Lord Black." She then walked out in search of her anger-fuelled son.

Harry turned to the Greengrass Family, who looked pole-axed. "I trust this solution does not offend you?" He asked.

"Not at all, my Lord, but..." Astoria started, before she blushed.

"Please, this had nothing to do with your desireability as a potential wife," Harry started, "it has everything to do with my dislike of out-dated traditions that take away freedom of choice. If you and I should marry sometime in the future, so be it, but if we do it will be due to us wanting to do so - not because of any business contract signed decades before we were born."

Astoria blushed heavily, before she gave Harry a radiant smile. "I may take you up on that one day, Lord Black. Until then, I have NEWTs to study for..."

Harry smiled back. "Then we shouldn't take up any more of your valuable time. Shall we adjourn?"

My reaction to any "there's an arranged marriage that was signed 300 years ago" plot is "can't you just annul it somehow?". Especially as Harry is usually written as the new Lord Black/Potter/Gryffindor - surely such a position should have some power to make decisions attached to it.

Also, regarding Gringotts - this institution seems to have become the fanon place to do all business in the magical world. In my considered opinion, banks rarely get involved in sorting out inheritance issues - that's a job for lawyers, the Public Trustee and (for aristocracy) the College of Arms.

So, take this as my response to the "Gringotts does everything, including recognising who the legitimate Lord is" stuff that permeates a lot of Potter fanfics.

8. Goldfish Bowl

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I doubt I ever will.

"Well. I must say I never expected to see you again, Tom."

"Shut up, Potter! Never use that name! I am Lord Voldemort!"

"Congratulations, you remembered the original anagram of your name! And here I thought your mind was simply rotting away after the way you abused it..."

"Silence! You dare to mock-"

"Oh yes, I dare alright. Face it, Tommy boy, we're here because you need me. You need my help, and I don't need yours. So here you are, cap in hand, come to beg for a favour from the one person you hate the most."

"I do not beg!"

"No, you demand. Well, you can demand all you want, Tommy, but it won't get you anything. Tell me, how long did it take for you to even notice my parting present?"

"..."

"Oh, go on! How long?"

"...4 months."

"That long? Wow, you must have been busy with the Ministry. I was expecting you to run into it the minute I left."

"What the hell did you do, Potter?"

"Ah, that's a bit of a long story. It starts when your minions conspired to have me sent to Azkaban for the murder of Cedric Diggory. I bet you got a kick out of that."

"It did seem...poetic."

"Very bad poetry if you ask me. Still, it had an unexpected side-effect. All those dementors hanging around did wonders."

"Explain."

"Well, I retained my sanity because I didn't feel guilty. Well, by the time I got there I didn't feel guilty. Mostly I felt angry at the idiots who get me sent to prison. So the usual problems associated with dementors didn't really apply to me."

"Speed it up, Potter."

"Such impatience. At any rate, with the constant exposure to dementors this lovely little link that you set up between our minds started to work in my favour."

"What link?"

"Oh, this is priceless. You didn't know that you left a piece of your soul in my famous scar?"

"What?"

"Yep. All those horcruxes you made left your soul in a poor state, so when your own killing curse bounced back...well, your soul split off a chunk again. It found the nearest available vessel - me."

"..."

"I love that expression on your face! Anyway, that's why my scar always hurts when I was near you. Apparently your soul wanted to get together for a reunion, and the pressure gave me a headache."

"I cannot believe that I could accidentally make a horcrux."

"Oh, I wasn't a horcrux. Not even close. I just had a chunk of your soul attached to me in a parasitical relationship. If you had actually made me a horcrux, it wouldn't have been so tightly bound to a specific part of my anatomy."

"Irrelevant! Souls don't just fragment when they are hit by Killing Curses!"

"Normally, no. They don't. But yours did, due to the way you had butchered it already. But now for the kicker..."

"What?"

"That soul bit set up a link between us. I'm sure that under normal circumstances you would have discovered this on your own and taken advantage of it. But that's where the dementors come into it - you see, the first time you used the link to touch my mind, it was accidental. You did it in your sleep."

"Why don't I remember this?"

"Because what you got was a full blast of the best a dementor can do. And while I was never wracked by guilt, you were. Oh, I'm sure if you'd been awake you could have handled it - but you were asleep. Your normal defences were down, and the exposure to dementors via our mind-link scared your sub-conscious. Scared it a lot."

"I fear nothing!"

"That's your conscious self speaking. Your sub-conscious isn't nearly as rational. It got a full dose of dementor aura and ran away from it - which is a pretty good response, all things considered. And before you rant again, remember that your unconscious mind had none of the protections you normally use to shield yourself from your dementor allies."

"..."

"Cat got your tongue? Or maybe your nose? Ha! That enraged expression is unbecoming, do calm down. To get back to it, that little episode made me aware of the link. At first I was very wary of it, but eventually I mustered the courage to investigate.

"I was surprised when I found that your mind had unconsciously retreated from the link. The more I realised that you were never going to attack me, the more I investigated it. I must have looked like a vegetable at that time, as I spent most of my waking moments delving right into my mind...and yours."

"What?"

"You keep saying that. Yes, Tom, I was routinely accessing your mind after a few months. You never seemed aware of it, probably your sub-conscious suppressing things it didn't want to remember. I was cautious at first, but after a while I was rifling through your brain like it was the local library."

"I can't believe this! My Occlumency barriers are strong enough to keep Dumbledore out, and you aren't a fraction the Legilimencer that he is!"

"It wasn't Legilimency. To be frank I'm not sure how you'd describe it, but the gist of it was that I had direct access to your mind that bypassed any Occlumency training."

"..."

"So I spent a few months trawling through your head. I learnt a lot of stuff - all the Hogwarts education I should have received but didn't thanks to manipulative Headmasters and bitter Potions Masters, a lot of Dark Magic that isn't on anybody's syllabus anywhere, plus more information about your personal life and history than I wanted to know about. That's where I got the information on your horcruxes, incidentally - and don't go and move them. I retrieved them all ages ago."

"...impossible."

"Clearly not. The ring, the locket, the diadem, the cup...the diary got destroyed in my second year. You can thank Malfoy for that."

"I'm going to kill him."

"You haven't yet? I'm surprised. Anyway, by the time you broke into the Department of Mysteries and stole the Prophecy, I had finished mining your head for knowledge and mostly just spent my time keeping up to date with the outside world by reading your mind."

"..."

"Of course, your little raid on the Ministry brought them all here to release me. Apparently I was now the Chosen One who was destined to vanquish you, so the likes of Fudge wanted me out and fighting for them. Too bad I had no intention of helping any of them."

"Oh? I had no idea you could be so vindictive."

"I learned that from the master. I had a plan, though, inspired by what I pulled from your mind. You see, all of your research into obscure or forgotten magic...it gave me ideas."

"Explain."

"There was so much that you just never followed up on. Horcruxes are just the start - there's a whole world of soul magic, and not all of it is harmful. Some of it is even beneficial. Plus wards, advanced healing magic, transfiguration on a level to make the greatest Master of the modern age look like a squib...it was all there, Tom. You touched on it, and you never followed it up. So I did, instead."

"How? You were stuck at Hogwarts in that year."

"Heh. Stuck, yeah. I had full access to every shelf in the Library. I forced that out of Dumbledore when he asked me to help. Plus I had friends outside of Hogwarts with excellent researching skills and almost bottomless pockets."

"The blood traitor and the werewolf?"

"Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, please. It was ironic that your little foray into the Ministry got Sirius exonerated, but even Fudge couldn't hush up over a dozen eye witnesses of Peter Pettigrew's involvement. I got the two of them on side - not that it took much, they were as disgusted with the sheeple as I was - and sent them off to do the research I couldn't get access to."

"..."

"By the end of my sixth year - which was really my fifth year at Hogwarts, but Dumbledore insisted that I stay with my peer group in spite of a year off at Azkaban - I had all of the knowledge I needed for my little plan. That year also gave me the time to make the contacts I needed to pull it off, as well as gather my true friends and allies together."

"What was this plan of yours?"

"You should know by now, Tommy, you've been feeling the effects for some time now. Fudge and Dumbledore had this wonderful idea that I would spend a year at Hogwarts getting trained to fight you, longer if possible. Then I would go out like a good little soldier and kill you for them. What they didn't know is that I had no intention of doing anything for that pathetic society that they were so desperate to preserve.

"Sirius Black's treatment was bad enough, but then sending me to Azkaban? A sham trial - no veritaserum, no priori incantantem on my wand, all of the witnesses called were so blatantly biased against me, running rough-shod over rules of evidence...no, I had my fill of the magical world of Britain. My friends all agreed with me, so they were very receptive when I explained my plan.

"I decided that if you and Dumbles were so intent to fight over the future of a pathetically inbred and stagnant culture, I would let you go for it. I just wanted to keep the collateral damage down. So, step one was getting all my friends - and their families - to leave Britain. The Turks and Caicos Islands were and are British territory of a sort, plus the climate is wonderful.

"Incidentally, I did all of this in consultation with Her Majesty's Government. Or the muggles, as you would put it. They were quite annoyed when I revealed that the disease that had killed so many citizens was actually the result of you unleashing dementors. They were all for resurrecting the witch burning approach, but I persuaded them to try my idea."

"Quit stalling! Tell me what you did!"

"Heh, as impatient as ever. What I did was create the most complicated ward ever devised. I won't get into the nitty gritty, far too complicated, so a quick summary. I prevented all magicals in the British Isles from leaving it, I stopped all magicals in the British Isles from interacting the non-magicals, and I put in a protection ward for anybody under the age of 17."

"..."

"I see you get the idea. I locked you all into your pathetic little world and threw away the key. After I had finished, you could all fight each other to your hearts' content as far as the world was concerned - the only people you could hurt were yourselves. The muggles were safe, magicals outside of Britain were safe, my friends were safe. What did I care for the people I left behind?"

"You truly did not care for the innocent?"

"What innocents? The sheeple could burn as far as I cared. They were all wilfully complacent and ignorant, leaving all of the big decisions to people like Dumbledore or Malfoy. I decided it would be an object lesson - this is what happens when you let other people do your thinking for you. And I must say that you make an excellent object lesson."

"..."

"So, here we are. You and Dumbledore have been locked in your little goldfish bowl for the past decade, and the rest of the world has gone on as if you don't matter. Because, really, you don't. I've been extremely happy in the Caribbean, and there is nobody in Britain I care about. The British Government is quite content, as the wards I left mean that you don't exist as far as they are concerned. And now, here you are...asking for my help. Why don't you tell me exactly what it is you want?"

"...the wards are killing us. You've stopped the influx of mudbloods into our world, and the population is crashing. I won the war quickly, but Dumbledore had sown the seeds of a resistance movement. So we've spent a decade fighting, losing people faster than they are born."

"I should have mentioned that I left a mechanism for the legitimate Government to identify all muggleborn and get them out of the country. They've got something similar to the old Hogwarts Registrar of Magical Births, but the one I created does not have the permanent Confundus charm that I layered on the Hogwarts copy. Which is why the school has had such a hard time sending letters out recently. Once the muggle authorities find the muggleborn wizards and witches, they contact me for portkeys to get them beyond my wards and out of the country. I mass produced several thousand of them shortly after I left - and don't go looking, because I have them hidden under a layered Fidelius. I believe there is a school in Canada that takes all the British muggleborn now, but don't quote me on that. So, you want me to drop the wards?"

"Yes! At this rate there will be no magicals left in Britain within a generation, two at the most!"

"And how does that concern me? Good riddance, that's what I say. Presumably the non-human magicals are doing OK?"

"The Goblins are gone. I seized control of Gringotts for myself, and those beasts we didn't kill tried to flee the country. No doubt they ran into your wards."

"Yes, unfortunately I couldn't distinguish between magical humans and magical anything-elses. Luna assured me that no migration patterns would be disrupted though, so it seemed a moot point."

"You can't leave us like this, Potter!"

"Oh, but I can. And I will. Incidentally, I should tell you that Dumbledore found out about my little present just hours after I left. Mostly because he tried to follow me and couldn't. Not even Fawkes could bypass the barrier I left, which surprised even me. He's somehow managed to track me down and sent me letters via the muggle post - mostly beseeching me to come back to Blighty and do his work for him."

"His work? You mean you don't believe the Prophecy?"

"No. Divination is a load of bunk. The only prophecies that ever work are those that have a lot of people working hard to fulfil, and guess what - I ain't working for this one. Besides, I've already done everything I need to do in relation to that little bit of drivel."

"Explain."

"Remember how I said that horcruxes were just the start? I know a lot more soul magic than anyone else on the planet. And when you combine that with the pieces of your soul that I managed to acquire..."

"What?"

"There's that word again. I could - and did - use your horcruxes to engineer a safe way of removing your soul fragment from my scar. Which neatly cut the link between our minds, incidentally, so don't bother trying to use it to your benefit. I also managed to set up an array that allowed me to funnel energy through your remaining horcruxes and the last one you created. Now you know why your pet snake went up in smoke."

"You were responsible for killing Nagini? You'll pay for that!"

"I fail to see how you're going to manage that, considering that we're both under Magical Oaths to not harm each other for the duration of this meeting...and I never plan to meet you again. You can't escape Britain to get at me, and I never plan on returning. And I doubt that you have the foreign contacts required to recruit an overseas force to deal with me."

"..."

"Nothing to say? That must mean I'm correct. So, as far as the damned Prophecy is concerned, I've done everything I need to. I vanquished you in 1981, and I've destroyed the only things that kept you from dying permanently. That whole 'neither can live while the other survives' bollocks referred to the chunk of your soul that was stuck in my scar - and I removed and destroyed that years ago. And here's a small hint - trying to create a new horcrux would almost certainly be fatal considering how damaged your soul is. Or what is left of your soul."

"Damn you, Potter!"

"Now you sound like Snivellous. That isn't a good image to present. At any rate, thank you for this small visit to my old homeland, but I have an urgent date with a witch I know, and this portkey is set to automatically trigger when I need to leave. Ciao!"

A/N: Yes, "Harry leaves Azkaban and abandons Britain" has been done before. Though I've never seen one where Harry and Friends leave Britain to let Tom and Albus fight it out between them in a way that can't hurt anyone else...the goldfish bowl comment was deliberate.

Also, I wanted to try and write an entire bunny as nothing but conversation.

Layered Fidelius: I didn't invent this idea so I won't take credit. The basic concept is to have a Fidelius protected item inside a Fidelius protected area. In this case, it would be something like "the house that contains Harry's portkey store is located at 12 Lovegood Avenue", and then "the trunk that contains Harry's portkeys is located in the dining room". Two separate secret keepers, two Fidelius charms.

9. Scrimgeour's Last Stand

"Damn it," the relatively new Minister of Magic cursed as the wards pulsed, "bloody bastard has finally taken the gloves off. Nothing for it then - Operation Dagon!"

With that, the few Aurors who were standing about looking terrified suddenly lurched into action. They may have been under attack by one of the most powerful Dark Lords in modern history, but they had orders and people to protect.

Around the Ministry, a siren wailed. People who had frozen in place when the tell-tale feeling of collapsing wards had made itself known suddenly started to scramble towards floo fireplaces. Others activated emergency portkeys that had been issued in advance. A minority, all volunteers, opened special expanded cabinets and pulled out the equipment they would need for a last stand.

50 seconds after the Minister had launched Operation Dagon, all non-combatants had left the Ministry and those that remained were fully prepared to make the Death Eaters pay for every room in blood.

Voldemort's confident smirk evaporated as the first signs of resistance appeared in the form of cutting charms decapitating his vanguard. Cursing, he lead the counter-attack with a large blasting curse that sent body parts flying across the main entrance hall. He was forced to find cover as the Ministry defenders rapidly picked up their game and sent a barrage of offensive hexes towards the Death Eater force.

"Find cover and kill them!" Voldemort screamed, as a reductor curse narrowly missed his head.

Scrimgeour's already grim expression turned a touch darker as the sounds of combat reached him. A veteran Auror himself, a large part of him wanted to go out and join his loyal troops in the battle. Unfortunately, he was the Minister and the Minister had more important things to do in an event like this.

"...I repeat, this is the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour. I hereby declare a Code Sea Lion. Please verify immediately."

"This is Major Hewitt of the Prime Minister's signals office. I confirm Code Sea Lion. All communications channels between Her Majesty's Government and the British Ministry of Magic will be sealed until Code Sea Lion has been rescinded according to the Merlin Protocols."

"Copy that. Goodbye." With that the Minister shut down the floo connection to Number 10. The muggles know what is going on, at least. Now to contact the ICW and as many of our putative allies as I can reach...

Voldemort was extremely annoyed. Scrimgeour's purges had cost him the sympathisers in the Ministry that would have allowed this assault to have been over already. As a result they were forced to fight for the Ministry practically room by room. This was not only time consuming, but also costly - he'd lost a good 14% of his effective forces already.

Now he'd discovered that there were a large number of non-Aurors who were joining the fight against his Death Eaters. And unlike the Aurors that had been in the first line of defence, these wizards and witches were using muggle weapons to supplement their lack of experience with offensive magic.

Normally he would have scoffed at the idea of muggle weapons being of any threat to a wizard, but the first hand grenade going off in an office filled with Death Eaters had been a serious wake-up call. His loyal followers were finding out the hard way that semi-automatic shotguns and submachineguns were more than lethal enough in enclosed area where aiming wasn't strictly necessary.

Fortunately he had some extra allies along who were not entirely reliant on shield charms that proved to be ineffective against high velocity lead.

"Send the trolls forward! Let them take out the scum, and then kill any survivors!"

Scrimgeour turned away from the floo, ignoring the clang of the metal grate that slammed across it. He was now stuck in this office, unless he wanted to leave the Ministry by the front door...which, of course, meant getting past Voldemort.

That isn't part of the plan, naturally. Rufus thought to himself grimly. I wish I had a better plan, one that involved an escape route, but decades of corruption by the likes of Fudge means that the Death Eaters know the pre-established escape plans better than I do. No sense crying over spilt milk, though, I knew that this might be on the cards one day.

Scrimgeour strode over to his desk and destroyed the documents scattered on it. Pausing to check some of his personal equipment, he looked at the now cold floo.

At least part of this plan worked. The actions of those out there fighting the Death Eaters bought me enough time to get the warnings out. Magical Britain will be sealed off until we can confirm that the Death Eaters are not a risk. Which reminds me...

He opened a safe in the corner of his office and regarded the contents. Pulling out a sealed envelope, he calmly torched the rest of the contents. Applying a muggle stamp to the envelope, he ruefully examined the name written on it.

We may not have had the best working relationship, but he's the best chance we have now. Good luck, Harry, I hope this helps...

One flick of his wand later, and the stamp-turned-portkey had sent the envelope away to the only person who would ever stand a chance of bringing magical Britain out of its self-imposed isolation.

Voldemort's annoyance had blossomed into full-blown rage. He'd run out of trolls now; the defenders had discovered that even troll-hide is of little use against the shrapnel from hand grenades. His vampiric allies had also taken significant losses, to the point where only fear of Voldemort was keeping them in the fight.

Damn Scrimgeour! He will pay for the life of every one of my followers who has died here!

Behind him, his loyal followers trailed along in the wake of their lord. All of them hoping that the inevitable explosion of rage would not be directed at them.

Harry Potter blinked as an envelope suddenly appeared in front of him. What the heck is this?

Opening it revealed a large bundle of documents that seemed to be far too large to have fitted inside the envelope. Attached to the bundle was a letter addressed to Harry.

"Harry, if you are receiving this then the Ministry has fallen to the forces of the Dark Lord. As Minister of Magic I have invoked Code Sea Lion, which has resulted in magical Britain being cut off from the rest of the world. All of the other Ministries of Magic have now erected wards that will prevent all forms of magical transport out of the British Isles. The only way to reverse this is to exercise the Merlin Protocols, which I have sent to you with this letter. Do not do this until the threat of the Dark Lord and his followers has been ended.

I have also included all of Dumbledore's private files that I confiscated following his death. I hope that they will aid you, I know that nobody here has been able to divine anything useful from them.

We at the Ministry will do our utmost to make the Dark Lord pay for this building with the lives of his followers. We will not get out of this alive, as the attached battle plans will show you. Finish the job for us, Harry, and make the bastards pay.

Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic."

It was over. Voldemort strode into the Minister's office with a triumphant look on his face. Before him was the Minister himself, bloody and beaten, held in place by Crabbe and Goyle.

"So, Minister, we finally meet. I was going to offer you the opportunity to continue as Minister under my new administration, but after the pointless resistance you ordered I am more inclined to find somebody else for the role. Unless you would care to beg for your life...?" The Dark Lord said menacingly.

"Go fuck yourself, Riddle." Rufus said, glad that he had that one small piece of information about the Dark Lord from Dumbledore's notes. "Britons never, never, never will be slaves." He finished by spitting in the face of the Dark Lord.

Voldemort's rage reached new heights. "CRUCIO!"

Scrimgeour screamed as the cruciatus curse destroyed his nervous system. As the curse ended, he was left panting on the floor. Just a little more, you bastard, just a little more...

"Now you see what resistance brings you...pain. And now death. AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Scrimgeour's last conscious act before the green curse hit was to smile triumphantly. Thanks, Tom, time for the finale.

As the curse hit, monitors on Scrimgeour's body detected that his heartbeat had stopped. This triggered a small rune cluster that had been surgically implanted in the small of his back. This cluster sent a signal to minor ward schemes around the Ministry building.

5 seconds after the Minister of Magic had died, canisters of VX gas exploded through-out the Ministry building. Other charms automatically engaged, sealing the building hermetically to prevent any of the lethal chemical from escaping into the outside world.

Voldemort saw the gas start to spread, and realised the potential danger. "EVACUATE!" He screamed as he activated an emergency portkey that had enough power to punch its way through the Ministry wards. His inner circle reacted in time and escaped with their lord using the same escape route, but those who could not hear that last, desperate order were not so lucky.

Harry sat down in front of a hastily gathered group of the Order of the Phoenix.

"What's going on, Harry?" Hermione asked. Her friend looked like Death warmed over.

"I received a message from Scrimgeour. The Ministry has fallen. His last act was to flood the entire building with nerve gas and seal it up in an attempt to take Voldemort with him. I doubt that he managed to kill the arsehole, but the Ministry is now gone."

Hermione paled. Those with little knowledge of the muggle world looked puzzled. "What is nerve gas?" Asked Daedalus Diggle.

Author's notes: Dagon refers to the Temple of Dagon, notable for the demolition job that Samson carried out.

"Sea Lion" was the code name for the planned German invasion of Britain in 1940.

VX gas is...well, Google it. Very nasty stuff, just 10mg is enough to kill a human.

10. Never again

Random idea I had. I think I need a few dark one-shots to balance out the sweetness and light that is Ultimate Force.

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Harry Potter. Though I'd like to organise something with the Patil twins...

Albus Dumbledore looked uncharacteristically grim as he surveyed the scene. This was an improvement over the Auror team that was supposed to be investigating the obvious crimes that had been committed here - they were all busy throwing up.

In truth, Dumbledore couldn't blame them. They hadn't seen what he had witnessed during the muggle Second World War. He had been forced to investigate several German concentration camps on his way to confronting Grindelwald, including notable places such as Auschwitz, Bergen-Belsen and Dachau. The memories of those locations were seared into his mind, and he dared not commit them to a pensieve for fear that somebody else might view them and be tormented by the true horror of what man could do to man when properly motivated.

He himself had not slept properly for the past 25 years. It took sheer willpower to avoid a Dreamless Sleep potion addiction.

The contents of the small house he was now visiting brought the worst parts of his history with Grindelwald back. It had been the home of a small magical family - two muggleborn parents and their children. It wasn't any more. The mother was dead, apparently after having been gang-raped. The healer's analysis - before the poor woman had gone into shock - was that the husband had been involved. There were signs of the Imperius curse on the poor man, though to Albus the look of horror on his face was enough evidence.

The young boy couldn't have been more than three years old. That hadn't stopped whoever had done this from nailing the child to the wall before using him as target practice for low-power cutting spells. It must have taken the poor child some time to finally die from blood loss.

The girl was slightly older, at 6. She too had been raped, in addition to extensive Cruciatus exposure. She had been finished off with the Killing Curse, which by the time it came must have been almost merciful.

The Headmaster turned from the scene of depraved violence and walked outside. Hovering over the house was a ghostly image - a skull with a snake protruding from the mouth. Apparently it was the calling card of whoever had done this. Albus' expression hardened slightly, as he turned to the senior Auror on duty - the only one who had control over his stomach.

"Well, Alastor, do you have any evidence as to who might have done this?"

Moody glowered. "Nothing I can use. All the evidence is circumstantial at best and isn't anything I could use to start a proper investigation. No witnesses. The spell traces are too vague. But I can give you a load of suspects who could probably give you chapter and verse with enough Veritaserum in them."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "What makes you suspect these people?"

Alastor shrugged. "Their public statements in the Wizengamot, their associations with like-minded individuals, suspicious behaviour that was only just innocent enough to keep them out of my reach...I have no doubts. I know who did this, or at least I know who would know the people who did this. I just don't have a shred of evidence that would allow me to take any official action."

Albus nodded. "Give me your list. I may have some resources that can help."

The grizzled Auror nodded. "I'll owl it to you once I'm back at the office."

Dumbledore nodded, before he turned and apparated back to Hogwarts.

"Mr Lestrange, we meet again." A pleasant voice stated. The kindly tone and banal greeting did little to off-set the unpleasant experience of being bound tightly to a chair.

"What is the meaning of this?" Lestrange demanded.

"I am told that you might know some things that I am interested in, Mr Lestrange. That is why I invited you here for a little chat." The voice continued, as a figure moved within Lestrange's field of vision. The bound man's eyes widened as he recognised his apparent captor.

"Dumbledore! What the hell are you playing at?" He half shouted.

Albus merely raised an eyebrow. "Playing? My dear boy, I stopped playing back in 1945, when I dealt with Grindelwald. This is no game, Mr Lestrange, this is an interrogation. You have information I need, and you are going to give it to me."

Lestrange scoffed. "What makes you think I'm going to tell you anything? Let me go, old man, and maybe I'll refrain from getting the Aurors to throw you in prison for the rest of your life."

"Amusing, you seem to think you have a choice in this matter." Dumbledore said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "You are going to tell me everything I want to know, and I have all the tools required to get that information. I have many questions, starting with that tattoo on your arm and working through to what you've been doing with your spare time lately. And just to make sure..."

The kindly old Headmaster produced a small bottle from a pocket. Lestrange's eyes widened as he recognised the label.

"Veritaserum, Mr Lestrange. I know you have no resistance to it. Now let's make sure you get three drops and no more, I don't want you to die before I'm finished..."

Two days later, Lestrange was found wandering down the main street of Hogsmeade with no memory of what had happened to him. Nobody picked up on the small traces that indicated ingestion of Veritaserum, and nobody was qualified to detect the signs of forced Legilimency probing.

Explosions rocked the Nott family manor, startling the occupants as they sat at a long table in the old great hall. Everybody quickly looked to the person at the head of the table, who was already on his feet.

"It would seem that we are under attack," Lord Voldemort said calmly, "let us show these idiots just why nobody should oppose me."

The assembled Death Eaters smiled gleefully, and turned to meet the attacking force. The first person out of the door of the hall instantly turned into a bloody mist as he was hit by over a dozen high-powered hexes.

"Ambush! Out of the windows!" Voldemort screamed, as he took to the air.

Dumbledore watched as his small army moved through the grounds of the old manor with practiced efficiency. It was not widely known that he had not been alone when he had finally ended the reign of Grindelwald. He had, in fact, been aided by a large group of highly trained Aurors and Hit Wizards from Britain, Canada, Australia and the United States of America. While none of these magical soldiers had been acting with official sanction from any of their respective Ministries, behind the scenes they had all enjoyed full government support.

With that support had come training, and access to archives of magic normally kept sealed. Grindelwald had ultimately been defeated by the fact that his opponents had been freely using offensive magics that had been kept a secret for so long that hardly anybody knew that they had ever existed.

The reason for the secrecy? The sheer power and effectiveness of the hexes. Not to mention the brutality and general nastiness of them. Albus had been violently sick the first time he had used one of the "Forgotten Magics" on a human being, and had only ever used them as a last resort thereafter.

Now, however, the old spells were getting a good work-out as his old allies attacked the "Death Eater" gathering that his intelligence sources had said was taking place. Dumbledore had known that he would need help to deal with any new Dark Lord, and the old crew was the fastest way of getting it. It had only taken a fortnight of practice to get themselves back up to speed - one of the Australians had said that it was "just like riding a bike".

Albus had ridden muggle bicycles before. They weren't nearly as bloody as this particular exercise was.

So far, they had cleaned out (and then levelled) two of the buildings. The great hall had been kept for last as they had known that the main opponents were congregated there. Highly classified scrying charms had given them a good count of the number of occupants, leaving them to conduct the usual drill of erecting anti-transportation wards before launching the attack.

Dumbledore was keeping count. The "Death Eaters" had lost two thirds of their numbers already. The one called "Voldemort" had been seen flying out of a window, much to everyone's surprise. Self-levitation on that level was an extremely rare skill. It hadn't helped the so-called Dark Lord, however, as Dumbledore's Army (as one of the Canadians had dubbed the eclectic group, much to Albus' dismay and everyone else's great amusement) was well practiced at hitting airborne targets.

After all, they had practiced during the war with banishing charms on falling muggle bombs. That kind of learning environment encouraged quick reflexes and good aim.

Voldemort swore as he was forced to the ground. He was losing followers rapidly and could not see that his efforts were making any impact on the attacking force - curses were dodged or blocked with summoned rocks, of which there were plenty thanks to the destroyed buildings.

Evidently, the old men he could see were very, very good at this kind of thing.

His emergency port-key had already been tried and found wanting. Apparation was similarly blocked, and the floo had been destroyed with the main residential part of the manor. His loyal followers were taking spell-fire from all sides, a sure sign that they were surrounded.

There was nothing left to do but gather his force together and try to punch a hole through the cordon that encircled them. Shouting orders, he turned towards the nearby forested area that was the traditional hunting ground of the Nott family.

Albus allowed himself a small smile as he saw the change in tactics. It meant that the enemy knew that they were completely outclassed and was now just trying to escape. Time to close the trap.

"Bravo force, move in to November sector. Enemy force trying to escape to forest." He murmured into a magically amplified microphone that would pick up every order he gave regardless of the background noise. A series of clicks answered him as his reserves moved in to block Voldemort's chosen escape path.

"All other units, tighten the noose. I want prisoners for interrogation."

Several hours later, Voldemort and 4 of his followers were brought to Dumbledore. Magical inhibitors had been applied to all five prisoners, built into the bindings that prevented them from moving a muscle.

"Well well well. I thought it might be you, Tom. My, how far you have fallen." Dumbledore said equably as he surveyed the sorry group that was all that was left of the Death Eaters.

Voldemort glared. It would have been impressive had he been in a position to do anything more. "You'll never get away with this, Dumbledore. Attacking the manor, killing people, all with no legal sanction or justification! The Wizengamot will crucify you for this!"

Albus remained completely unruffled. "Why, Tom, what makes you think the Wizengamot will ever know about this? I see no reason to bother them with something as trivial as a failed insurrection such as this."

Voldemort's rant was cut off as an icy feeling ran down his spine. "Just how are you going to hide the deaths of so many purebloods?"

The Supreme Mugwump smiled gently. "Obviously, there was an illegal potion brewing operation going on here that went tragically wrong. I saw a massive explosion as I was attending a reunion of my old friends. Such a shame about those caught up in the blast, but then again they should not have been brewing illegally the way they were..."

Voldemort scoffed. "You think that story will hold up for a minute? Once we're in front of the court..."

"You won't see court, Tom." Dumbledore said harshly. "I once allowed a Dark Lord to go, as I was unwilling to do what was required to put an end to his madness. Thousands of wizards and witches paid for my cowardice, and millions of muggles. Never again, Tom. The Ministry may not have been able to stop you thanks to the law getting in the way, but I am not going to allow anything as trivial as signed pieces of parchment prevent me from eradicating monsters such as yourself before you are a serious problem."

Dumbledore looked at the smouldering wreckage on the battlefield, before he returned his attention to the man once called Tom Riddle. "Nobody is ever going to find out about what happened here. You and your surviving followers are going to tell us everything we want to know about yourselves, your plans and your resources. We may have to use Legilimency and Veritaserum until your minds are destroyed, but we will find out what we want to know. After that..."

Dumbledore walked a short distance and picked up a broken wand that was lying next to a fallen beam timber. He studied it for a few moments, before a flash incinerated it in his hand.

Voldemort's eyes widened as he realised that the old man had cast FiendFyre wandlessly in the palm of his hand, without even feeling the heat.

"After that, Tom, you and your followers will be liabilities. Liabilities that will just have to disappear. Fortunately, we are very, very good at making things disappear."

Dumbledore sighed, before he allowed the ashes of the destroyed wand fall from his hand. He turned back to the prisoners and regarded them steadily.

"Take them away, gentlemen. I have a Ministry to talk to. I must inform the Minister of the tragic deaths of so many pureblooded wizards in this horrible accident. Such a shame that there were no survivors, even though we looked as diligently as possible."

Author's notes: The basic idea is that this Dumbledore was badly scarred by some of the things he saw during WW2. So much so that when the first signs of Death Eater activity start to show, he throws the rule-book out the window and goes after them with ruthless efficiency and a willingness to do anything it takes to deal with the problem early.

If that means killing every Death Eater after mind-raping them of all the information he needs, then so be it. He's willing to throw his own moral code out the window if it means preventing another Final Solution.

After this, the interrogation of Riddle reveals everything regarding the Horcruxes. Dumbledore and his allies promptly secure and destroy them, before discreetly arranging to have Riddle and his followers thrown through the Veil of Death (Albus has contacts in the right places to have this happen in secret).

Regarding the date - best information I have is that the first overt Death Eater activity started in 1970. This is 25 years after Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald.

11. The Bank Loan

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise.

It was a proud day for the young goblin. After years of hard work, blood-letting (some of it his own) and bribery he had finally been given the job that was universally regarded as a stepping stone to greatness.

Front desk teller in the London branch of Gringotts. It was thought that any goblin who could last three years dealing with wizards without snapping and starting a killing spree was good management material.

Of course, the young goblin did wish that his "public name" was different. As wizards found goblin names to be impossible to pronounce, every goblin who had to interact with wizards was given a more "human friendly" name. Rather than try to find some equivalent name (an impossible task at the best of times), every goblin was given some name that related to one of their past deeds. Griphook, for example, had earned his name after an enemy left him impaled on a meathook - the goblin survived by grabbing the hook where it stuck out of his chest and taking the strain so it wouldn't tear through him.

The goblin's name was not nearly as good, in his opinion. It was just his fault that one of his first battles had been in a magical pub in Ireland. He had done well, but because he'd used an improvised weapon (a rubber chicken) thanks to leaving his axe at home...

Well, "Paddywhack" was not in the same league as "Griphook". It really wasn't.

Still, he had a plum job now. He was determined to prove his worth.

Then his first customer of the day arrived. At first the goblin didn't notice. It wasn't what he was expecting, after all.

"Ahem." He heard. Peering over his desk, he saw a...toad.

"Can I help you?" He asked, wondering if this was a joke or the result of a potions accident.

"My name is Trevor." The toad said. "My human was given an award following the Battle of Hogwarts and I think that I should have a more upmarket toad hole to befit my new status.""

The goblin just nodded. The customer was always right, at least when they were right in front of you.

"To that end I would like to take out a loan." Trevor explained.

The goblin nodded again. Loans he knew about.

"Very well. I will need two references..."

"Easily done. My human is Neville Longbottom, I believe his family has substantial holdings here."

The goblin blinked. The Longbottoms were one of the richest families in magical Britain.

"Excellent, and one other?"

"Well, I don't like to name drop, but before Neville got me I was raised by Keith Richards. He's a famous and rich muggle, and he often said that he considered me to be a son to him."

The goblin resolved to look this man up when he had a chance.

"Very well. I also need some sort of collateral before the loan can be granted."

The toad grunted, and somehow produced...a small model of a Holyhead Harpy on a broomstick. It was typical of the type of souvenir sold to fans at Quidditch games.

The goblin just stared. "Give me a moment, I need to consult somebody."

Not quite fleeing his desk, the new teller made his way to his boss. After getting his attention, he explained the situation.

"...and then he gave me this item. what is it, and what should I do?"

The more senior goblin just stared for a moment. "It's a nick nack, Paddywhack. Give the frog a loan, his old man's a Rolling Stone."

"Toad, sir." The young goblin corrected, only to receive a glare.

Author's notes: This is the result of a challenge issued on a HP fanfiction Yahoo group I am a member of. The idea was to convert old jokes to fit the Potterverse.

So, here we go. My groan-inducing rehash of an old classic, complete with a telegraphed punchline.

12. How do you cast Fiendfyre?

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Harry looked at his two friends. "Guys, this is a Horcrux. I know it."

Ron looked unconvinced. "Are you absolutely sure, Harry? Because I don't want-"

"I am absolutely sure." Harry said as he took off his jacket.

Hermione sighed. "OK, Harry. Go ahead. Ron and I will be at a safe distance, watching anything other than you - I mean, watching to make sure you are safe."

Harry did not seem to have heard his friends as he continued his preparations for the one thing that they knew would destroy a Horcrux. Fiendfyre was effective, but the process used to cast the spell...

A short distance away, Ron and Hermione stared fixedly at a nearby mountain.

"You know," Ron said casually, "those clouds look like they might snow on us later."

"I think you are correct." Hermione said absently. "We'd best find a new place to pitch our tent, we don't want to be stuck here."

Both of them searched for something to take their minds off what was happening behind them as Harry destroyed the Horcrux.

The Boy-Who-Lived had finished his preparations. He was now wearing a green skintight spandex unitard and false, thick, black eyebrows. His hair had been magically restyled into a bowlcut, very different from his usual rat's nest. He frowned as he spoke the words to cast the spell.

"FLAAAAAAMES OF YOOOOOOOUTH!"

Author's notes: Yet another fragment inspired by a discussion in a fanfic Yahoo group. This one revolved around the fact that the exact incantation for Fiendfyre is not actually given in canon (at least, not that I and everyone else on the group could find). This lead to speculation as to what it might be, and of course the jokes start...

Oh, and disclaimer the second: I own no part of the Naruto franchise either.

13. Willow the Genius

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Girl Genius franchises. I just wish that I did.

Xander looked at Rupert Giles steadily as the British Watcher finished his discourse on the true nature of the world. After a few tense moments, he slumped a little and sighed.

"OK, let me recap. Vampires exist?"

"Correct." Giles replied. He was a little puzzled by Xander's fairly calm reaction to the knowledge of the paranormal.

"And so do demons?" The younger man continued, as if he were discussing the weather.

"Yes." Rupert was now definitely puzzled.

"OK." Xander said, before he paused.

"Are you OK?" Buffy asked. She glanced at Willow, who seemed to have sunk into deep thought.

"Um, I will be." Xander said with a nervous glance at his old friend. "Can I talk to you in private?"

"Uh, sure." Giles said in a confused tone as he walked towards his office. Xander and Buffy trailed along behind.

"OK," Xander began as the door shut behind him, "I'm going to need your help."

Giles blinked. "You need my help? What with?"

Xander shook his head. "No, I need the both of you to help. With Willow."

"What about Willow?" Buffy asked with some concern. "Will she be scared by the whole demony-world thing?"

Xander looked up sharply. He was particularly focused. "No, and that's the problem. Willow doesn't get scared. Ever. By anything. She just gets curious and tries to figure everything out. She does that with everything. What we need to do is try to stop her from going too far."

"Would you care to explain that in more depth, Xander?" Rupert asked politely.

Xander sighed again. "Willow...invents. She creates...things. She tinkers, she pokes at stuff, she generally tries to figure out how everything works and then uses that to make her own little projects."

Buffy blinked in confusion. "And that's a problem how?"

Xander stared for a moment. "OK, let me give you an example. I met Willow in kindergarten. One day the teacher got annoyed because all of the yellow crayons in the classroom started to go missing. I noticed that Willow was looking a little guilty and tried to find out why."

Now Rupert was confused. "I'm not seeing the point here."

"I'll get there," Xander assured him, "what I found was that Willow had seen some TV program about the future of science and had decided to beat everybody to achieving a workable fusion reactor. She had started to build one behind the girls' toilets and was stockpiling the crayons to use as fuel."

Buffy looked baffled. Giles looked bemused. Noticing their expressions, Xander hurried on.

"Sounds insane, right? I just thought she was playing, until she finished her machine in front of me and switched it on. It was then, and only then, that I discovered that when Willow sets out to create something, she usually succeeds."

"Hold on," Rupert interjected, "you're saying that Willow created a fusion reactor fueled by yellow crayons?"

"Exactly." Xander said with a defeated air. "She then tried to use it to power the lights on her bicycle, which caused the bulbs to blow. So she decided to 'fix' the lights herself, and set some trees on fire with what I can only guess was a high power laser beam."

Buffy and Rupert had taken the opportunity to stare at Xander with their jaws hanging.

"She's like that all the time. Give her a bicycle pump and she'll have a workable submarine in a few days. Show her something in the science class and she'll be launching toy rockets into orbit a week later. I don't know what it is about her but she's incessant and has no idea about safety."

Rupert rubbed his temples. He could feel a headache coming on. "Assuming you are correct and not just pulling my leg, what do you want me to do?"

Xander stared incredulously. "Are you joking? Willow managed to create a workable fusion reactor with parts of an old microwave oven and yellow crayons! She said that it made sense because the real nuclear industry uses yellowcake, which I didn't understand until I got to high school! I've spent the last decade or so doing my best to stop her from going too far, but it has been an uphill battle the whole way. Her parents are too disconnected from her to know what's going on and Jesse was always too intimidated to help."

"I'm still not seeing the problem here." Buffy said.

Xander smacked his forehead. "Gah! What I'm getting at, is - if she could do fusion with crayons, what will she do with vampires and demons? Just ask anybody at this school what happened the last time the biology class tried to run a dissection - and I mean the last time, because after that class the school banned the biology staff from dissecting animals in class. Of course, no teacher was willing to let Willow within a mile of any 'interesting' animals anyway but the principal didn't want to take any chances. I tried distracting her with the internet, but all that achieved was Willow telling me nuclear weapons launch codes after she hacked NORAD! And they're supposed to be off the net completely! I don't want to know what she'll do if she starts experimenting on vampires!"

Rupert swallowed. "Er, yes, this does seem to be a...potential problem."

"Story of my life," Xander muttered, "story of my fucking life."

***later on***

Rupert Giles walked into the Library with a serious expression on his face. He ignored the excited squeaks that indicated that Willow had something new to 'play' with. He'd had a lot of practice by that stage.

"We have figured out what the Mayor's plan is. He is going to ascend to be a greater demon - an Old One - during the eclipse that is due to take place during your graduation ceremony."

The Scoobies all glanced at each other with expressions that varied from horrified to bemused.

"Now, there is good news," Rupert went on, "that last time this happened the newly ascended demon was killed by a pyroclastic flow. So he will at least be vulnerable after he has ascended."

Willow took this moment to join the conversation. "What type of demon will he be? What will he look like?"

Rupert referred to one of his files before answering. "The best indication is that he will be some sort of giant snake."

"Awesome!" Willow said excitedly. "I know exactly what we need to do! Just get me 5 balls of twine and some chewing gum..."

***insert scenes of violence***

Giles studiously ignored the events taking place on the football ground as he paid close attention to what Buffy was saying.

"...but she'll be alright. Not fully drained. So, we have, like, 17 people hurt but nobody dead. Except the vampires, but they don't count."

"Good." Rupert said in reply. "And, Willow?"

Buffy glanced at the football pitch. "Busy with her new pet. I don't think the Mayor likes being called Fido."

***much later***

"No weapon forged? I never forge, I CREATE!" Willow cackled as she brandished something that looked like a cheap plastic water pistol. Knowing her, that's what it had been originally. Then she aimed in the general direction of the Judge and pulled the trigger.

Afterwards, the Scoobies all swore to never speak of the Mall Incident ever again. And Willow was banned from using indelible ink.

***still later***

"Oh, a typical Frankenstein's Monster." Willow said dismissively. "That's nothing. Meet my own special pet, Fido!"

ADAM looked up as a shadow fell over him. And up. And up.

Author's notes: Oh dear, it seems our Willow is a Spark. That might help explain the insane Willow-babble. Pity the poor vampires who become her new "test subjects".

This one is up for adoption. To be honest I just don't know the BtVS material well enough to even think about trying to expand this any further.

14. W for Wrath

"Tell me again, why are we standing on a roof looking at the entrance for the Ministry of Magic?" Ron asked testily. Two of the people he was with glared at him, the last seemed indifferent.

"Because this masked man came out of nowhere and saved us from a Death Eater ambush," Harry explained tiredly, "using nothing but daggers to fight off four wizards. Then he asked us to attend a little concert he was putting on, so here we are."

"I know all that, but why did we agree to come?" Ron whined. It was cold up there on the roof.

"I didn't think it was wise to argue with the dagger-wielding man who had just demonstrated near super-human strength and reflexes." Hermione replied in an annoyed tone.

Ron just huffed. "OK, fine, but we're very exposed up here and the Ministry is just full of Death Eaters these days. What will we do if any of them see us up here?"

"I wouldn't worry about that." The fourth person interjected smoothly. "They'll be wonderfully occupied with my little concert. Speaking of which…" The tall figure raised a wand and tapped a nearby gargoyle on the head. Soon, soft music could be heard, gradually getting louder.

Hermione looked confused for a moment. "I know that tune, but what is it…" She trailed off as the music grew louder. A male voice could be heard, singing solo.

O Freunde, nicht diese Töne!
Sondern lasst uns angenehmere anstimmen
und freudenvollere!

Now a male chorus joined in.

Freude! Freude!

Hermione's puzzled expression cleared up. "I know that song! Beethoven's Ninth Symphony!"

"Ah, what a wonderful intellect." The stranger said without turning his head. The song continued, getting louder all the time.

Freude, schöner Götterfunken,
Tochter aus Elysium,
Wir betreten feuertrunken.
Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!
Deine Zauber binden wieder
Was die Mode streng geteilt;
Alle Menschen werden Brüder
Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt.

Suddenly, the telephone box that served as the public entrance for theMinistry of Magic exploded. It was accompanied by a deeper rumbling that suggested at other events taking place underground.

"What the hell-" Harry started to say before he was cut off by the sight of the ground subsiding slightly.

Wem der große Wurf gelungen
Eines Freundes Freund zu sein,
Wer ein holdes Weib errungen,
Mische seinen Jubel ein!
Ja, wer auch nur eine Seele
Sein nennt auf dem Erdenrund!
Und wer's nie gekonnt, der stehle
Weinend sich aus diesem Bund.

Fireworks started to launch out of the ruins of the old telephone box.

Freude trinken alle Wesen
An den Brüsten der Natur;
Alle Guten, alle Bösen,
Folgen ihrer Rosenspur.
Küsse gab sie uns und Reben,
Einen Freund, geprüft im Tod;
Wollust ward dem Wurm gegeben,
Und der Cherub steht vor Gott!

Froh, wie seine Sonnen fliegen
Durch des Himmels prächt'gen Plan,
Laufet, Brüder, eure Bahn,
Freudig, wie ein Held zum Siegen.

Seid umschlungen, Millionen.
Dieser Kuss der ganzen Welt!
Brüder! Über'm Sternenzelt
Muss ein lieber Vater wohnen.
Ihr stürzt nieder, Millionen?
Ahnest du den Schöpfer, Welt?
Such ihn über'm Sternenzelt!
Über Sternen muss er wohnen.

The music ended, just as the final firework exploded overhead, leaving the image of a giant glowing W suspended over London. The dark figure turned to the Golden Trio.

"Well? What did you think of my work?"

The three friends just stood silently for a moment, stunned. Suddenly Hermione spoke up.

"I know that mask! That's a Guy Fawkes mask!"

"Ah, the wonderfully wise witch has worked out the significance of my wardrobe! What else can we expect from one such as she? But on this most auspicious of nights, permit me then, in lieu of the more commonplace soubriquet, to suggest the character of this dramatis persona.

"Witness! A humble worldly wizard, cast wickedly as both the wounded and wretch by the will of fate. This wondrous masquerade, no mere window-dressing of self-worship, is a whisper of the 'will of the people' now worthless, wasted. However, this awesome entrance of a bygone weariness stands reworked, and has sworn to overwhelm these worthless and wicked wrong-doers, welcoming lewdness and awarding the woundingly awful and unquenchable wronging of willingness.

"The only answer is wrath; a warpath, held as a word of honour not without worth, for the weightiness and truth of such shall one day warrant the aware and the wholesome.

"Genuinely this welter of words whirls most long-winded, so let me simply add that it's my very good honour to meet you and you may call me W."

Author's notes: My take on trying out a V for Vendetta plotline in the Potterverse. I'll leave the identity of "W" out of it for now in case I ever have the time to follow this one up.

Writing that "W" speech was a real pain in the rear end.

15. Desertion or Common Sense?

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter universe.

Hermione sighed as she took in her surroundings. Hogsmeade had once been the largest all-magic community in the British Isles. Now...

Now it was a cemetery. Literally. Nobody lived here now. There were a few abandoned (and mostly ruined) buildings still standing, surrounded on all sides by gravestones. Lots and lots of gravestones.

She did not look in the direction of Hogwarts. That was a memory too painful to bring up again. Besides, she already knew what it looked like now - little more than a pile of rubble, barely recognisable as having once been a castle.

"Well, we won." Hermione muttered to herself, "But the cost...it became necessary to destroy magical Britain in order to save it." She could not quite remember where she had heard the original quotation, but it was certainly appropriate.

She half-turned as she heard footsteps behind her. Uneven footsteps. Neville Longbottom was there, still not fully adjusted to his prosthetic leg. Thanks to her muggle background, Neville had the latest and best prosthetic available, but it would still be a few months before her old friend would be fully confident in its use.

"What is it, Nev?" She asked diffidently. She had expected to be alone on this day, barely four months after the final battle that had ended what historians were already calling the "Blood War."

"We found him." Neville said simply. Hermione turned fully to face the Longbottom heir-apparent and fixed him with the full intensity of her stare.

"Ron?" Her one-time fiancé had been thought dead for years.

"No, Harry. Remus finally reported in, seems he was on a top secret mission that Mad-Eye assigned him to after Harry went missing."

Hermione was stunned. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived...and then ran. Finally located. She fought down the surge of anger that the name brought up.

"Where is he?" She asked in a guttural tone.

"The Bahamas. Turns out the Blacks had an unplottable island there that he has been sitting on ever since he left Britain."

Hermione's expression went strangely blank. "Well, I think it is time we went and had a chat, don't you?

Hermione Granger strode up the path angrily, trailed by a cautious Neville Longbottom and a nervous Remus Lupin.

"This is a bad idea," Remus began. Hermione cut him off angrily.

"No, this is long overdue." She spat. "Harry has a lot to answer for."

"Look, I know we all have our grievances with Harry," Remus tried again, "but this is his home turf. And he's a lot more powerful than he was when he left."

"I don't care." Hermione bit back, as a large manor building came into view. It was a typical magical dwelling for this part of the world - a classic English manor stuck into the middle of a tropical paradise with no concern for the climate.

As the trio approached, a house elf appeared and bowed. Hermione blinked as recognition dawned. "Dobby?"

"Hello, Mistress Granger." Dobby said in flawless English. "Master Harry is waiting for you in the gazebo. I shall accompany you there."

"Fine." The witch said shortly. There was no point in taking her frustrations out on a house elf.

Hermione sat bolt upright in her comfortable chair as Dobby served tea. Remus was perched nervously on one end of an outdoor sofa, while Neville prowled around like a caged lion.

Harry was lounging on a settee, apparently without any care in the world. "Well, I wish I could say that this was unexpected. But I'd be lying if I did. Something like this was inevitable once Remus found my little place."

"Did you think you could run forever, Harry?" Neville asked diffidently before Hermione could say anything.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm running? I've been living here for 15 years. That's not running. That's settling down."

"Hiding, then." Hermione said with a sniff. Harry's eyes narrowed.

"I did a pretty piss-poor job of it then, didn't I? In case you hadn't noticed, this island has no charms to hide it from anybody other than those who have no magic. I could have slapped a Fidelius on the whole place, then you would never have seen me again. Hell, I was even visiting the USA on a monthly basis without trying to hide my identity. I'm more surprised that it took you this long to find me."

"We had more pressing issues to deal with, like Voldemort." Hermione hissed as she fought to keep her temper under control.

"Ah, now we get to the crux of the matter." Harry replied with a mirthless smile. "You're here to take me to task for 'desertion' or 'betrayal' or some rot like that."

"Do you have any idea what we went through?" Hermione snapped out. "15 years of fighting, all because you wouldn't help us! If you'd shared what Dumbledore left you-"

"Tell someone who cares." Harry snapped back. "Let me tell you something, Granger. Let me tell you the full story of why I gave the everybody in Britain the finger and left."

"Go ahead." Hermione said haughtily.

"I know you three remember our fifth year at Hogwarts." Harry said carelessly, as if he were discussing the weather. "The entire magical world ganged up on me, perfectly willing to write me off as a delusional brat rather than accept the uncomfortable truth that the core of their society was either serving Voldemort or was willingly blind to his return."

"I know that, but we were loyal." Neville bit out.

"And I was grateful. Even as the Ministry tortured me for the crime of telling the truth, you guys were on my side. But to be honest, the fact that the sheeple were so willing to turn on me that quickly really rankled. And then there was our sixth year."

"What happened?" Remus asked. "I never got the full story."

"Well, first of all you have the famed Boy-Who-Lived as the vindicated hero. The world finally admitted that he had been right all along. And as thanks, they locked him up in the abusive environment of his childhood and cut him off from contact with anybody."

"That was to keep you safe!" Hermione said in a half-snarl.

"Oh yeah, safe." Harry snorted. "Spare me your protestations, Granger, you were all too busy worshiping at the Temple of St Dumbledore to even indulge in a rational thought or two. Just how was shoving me away with the Dursleys and cutting off all communications supposed to help somebody who was grieving for the death of his godfather?"

Hermione blinked. She had no real answer to that.

"And then we got back to school," Harry went on, "my little forehead connection - which had been pretty accurate all through our fifth year, particularly when it saved Arthur Weasley - gives me a clue that Draco has been ordered to murder Dumbledore."

"I remember that." Neville said slowly. Harry nodded.

"Yep. Such a shame that Dumbledore trusted Snape to take care of it, while my so-called friends decided that now was their time to act like the Boy-Who-Lived was delusional. Everybody else had their turn the previous year, so it was obvious that they were due for a turn, right?"

"Oh don't be ridiculous," Hermione said with a huff, "you had no evidence whatsoever. What were we supposed to do?"

"Oh, I dunno, trust me?" Harry said as he looked at the skyline. "A strange concept at Hogwarts, I know. I mean, we all know how that played out."

"Draco didn't kill Dumbledore, Snape did." Hermione objected.

"Oh be serious!" Harry scoffed, directing a glare at his one-time friend. "That whole mess was Draco's plan. He let the Death Eaters into the school, he got the Darkness Powder, he just chickened out at the last minute! If it weren't for Draco, Snape would never have gotten close to killing Dumbledore."

Hermione just returned the glare.

"So there I was, with a dead mentor." Harry continued, "I knew about the horcruxes, far too late. I had Dumbledore's notes, for all the good they were. I had 'friends' who wouldn't believe a word I said until reality punched them in the face, a wider population who would back me until the Daily Prophet changed its mind, and a useless Ministry more intent on saving face than anything else. And then I get shoved back with the Dursleys, just to compound it all."

"I had no idea," Remus breathed. Harry waved him off.

"Don't sweat it, I knew you were being kept out of the loop. At any rate, after just one evening of being locked in my room with no food, I had an epiphany. Which was that I didn't give a flying fuck about Britain."

There was silence for a moment.

"I mean, my 'friends' had demonstrated that their friendship and loyalty weren't real. The population was willingly stupid, and there was nobody I really cared about. So why would I fight for them? After that little realisation, I took a quick trip to Grimmauld Place. I found out about this island from some of the books there. After that I used some of the money Sirius left me to get the hell out of Blighty."

"And left us to pick up the slack." Hermione said icily.

Harry chuckled. "Well, it was time somebody else carried the entire world on their shoulders. I showed Britain all the loyalty it had ever shown me."

"Damn you, Harry!" Hermione shouted. "We had to find all the horcruxes by working from scratch! And all that time, we were fighting! Hogsmeade was wiped out, Hogwarts was destroyed, Britain lost over half of its magical population!"

Harry put his hand up in her face. "Talk to the hand, 'cause the head ain't listening. What makes you think I care? Let the sheeple burn, they earned themselves their Dark Lord problem. Maybe this time, with no 'hero' to bail their sorry arses out, they'll actually learn from their mistakes. But then again, they're not that bright, so probably not."

Hermione reached to draw her wand, when a surge of magic stopped her.

Harry glared at her. "Watch yourself, Granger, the wards here were deadly even before I started upgrading them. Try any hostile magic and your atoms will be scattered from here to Mars."

Hermione withdrew her hand and settled for glaring. "So, what now? You'll just skulk here on your precious island?"

"That's the idea," Harry replied in a diffident tone, "though I'm not really skulking. I've been doing a lot of work with some Charms Masters in the US, so I'll be visiting them fairly regularly. Now, if that's all, you can leave. Don't let the door hit you in the arse on your way out."

Author's Note: Sometimes I wonder why Harry bothered to stay the course during his 6th year. That was the year when even Hermione decided to carry the idiot ball.

16. The Next Revolution

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter universe.

Hermione Granger, newly appointed Professor of Transfiguration at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, smiled as the large door in front of her opened to reveal a familiar house elf.

"Hello Dobby. How are you?"

"Dobby be doing goods, Missy Professor Grangey ma'am. You is here to see Master Harry?"

Hermione had long since learned to suppress the instinctive wince that used to be her chief expression whenever she heard a house elf call anybody "master". She'd fought that fight and lost when she discovered that the biggest opponent to the abolition of house elf slavery were the house elves themselves.

1 month at Hogwarts without their services had driven the point home.

"Yes, Dobby, I have his invitation here." Hermione said as she revealed the small card. Dobby nodded and ushered her inside.

"Master Harry Sir is in the drawing room with guests. Dobby show you the way."

Hermione knew the way blindfolded, but was not about to stop Dobby from doing what he clearly considered to be his duty. She walked alongside the elf, taking note of the small changes in decoration that had been made since her previous visit.

The drawing room looked fairly crowded, but Hermione immediately recognised at least 90% of the occupants. There was Ron talking to Luna and her husband while Su Li held on to his arm. Susan Bones was having an animated chat with her old friend Hannah Longbottom, nee Abbott, while Neville looked bored. Harry himself was pouring a drink for Ginny Weasley, studiously ignoring her somewhat blatant attempts to draw his attention to the 15 acres of cleavage that her dress had exposed.

Give it up, Ginny, that horse bolted a long time ago, Hermione thought to herself.

Harry suddenly looked up and spotted Hermione. His smile broadened somewhat as he handed the glass of wine to Ginny before crossing the room to greet his old friend.

"Hello Hermione, how are you?" The Man-Who-Won had managed to come out of his shell since his victory, and Hermione could now see just what Minerva had meant when she talked about the "Potter charm".

"Fine thank you. How have you been?"

Harry's smile dimmed slightly. "Not too bad, but it is a long story. One that has been waiting for your arrival - what was the delay? You aren't the type to be fashionably late."

Hermione blushed. "I'm afraid I got caught up in my work and lost track of time. In the end I had to be reminded by Tally that I had an engagement this evening."

Harry chuckled. "Never mind, Hermione, I'd be more worried if you hadn't been up to your eyeballs in your new job. But now that you're here, let's get this thing started..."

Dinner had concluded, and now everybody was seated in the large living room that Harry had set up for after-dinner discussions. Brandy and whisky had been dispensed for those who felt like aiding their digestion with copious quantities of alcohol, and the conversation had died down a bit. Finally, Neville got everyone's attention by speaking up.

"OK Harry, I've waited long enough. Just what is this delightful get together in aid of? It isn't just for a reunion, I know that."

Harry paused momentarily as the attention of the room was suddenly focussed on him. "You got me, Nev. OK, let's get to the purpose of tonight's gathering. First, a question. How do you all feel about the current state of our society?"

There was a pregnant pause, before Susan Bones spoke up. "It isn't all roses at the moment, but it is a lot better than it was." There was general agreement.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Really? I admit things are better than when unreformed Death Eaters were running the country from behind the scenes, but just how far have we actually come?"

"Cut to the chase and tell us what is on your mind, Potter." Daphne Greengrass said curtly. "I don't feel like playing 20 questions all night."

"OK then. I don't know if any of you are aware, but I resigned from the Aurors this morning." Harry stated. There was a chorus of people expressing their disbelief, which stopped as Harry raised a hand.

"It was not a decision I made lightly. But I have my reasons. The biggest of which was my realisation that our society has not changed in the way that it should have. Voldemort was a wake-up call that has apparently fallen on deaf ears."

"Explain that, Harry." Tracy Davis said bluntly. Harry turned to Hermione.

"Hermione, you have a senior position at Hogwarts. You've managed it in record time. How would you have done if you had applied for a job at the Ministry?"

Hermione had an immediate answer. "I did apply at the Ministry, Harry, for a job in Spell Research. I was told that they would get back to me. After 6 months without hearing anything I accepted Minerva's job offer."

Harry nodded and turned back to the rest of the room. "And there you have it. Hermione is easily the brightest witch to have entered the British magical world in centuries, and how does that world react? Rejection by all except those that actually fought alongside her in a war."

"Hold on, Harry," Justin Finch-Fletchley said, "I'll admit that Hermione's case is a poor indictment on the Ministry, but to go from that to disparaging our whole society..."

Harry shook his head. "Hermione is just the most obvious example. I've been keeping tabs since I started as an Auror. Since the fall of Voldemort, the Ministry has hired no muggleborn at all. The ratio of halfbloods like myself to purebloods is roughly 1 to 8. Similar statistics apply to the rest of society - the only businesses that hire muggleborn are those that are created by muggleborn. Everybody else hires purebloods for preference, or halfbloods if there is no other choice."

There was a brief moment of silence. Then Neville broke it. "That's unfortunate, but it is better than before."

Harry nodded. "Yes, the fact that muggle-baiting is all but a thing of the past is an improvement. But the fact remains that our society is still run by people who think blood status matters. They aren't violent about it like the Death Eaters, but the discrimination stands."

Harry got up and started to pace. "And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Who here thinks that the treatment of the Malfoys was at all fair or just?"

"Hold on, you yourself spoke up on their behalf!" Justin interjected. Harry skewered him with a glare.

"I argued for leniency, Justin, because they did come around and help us at the very end. After they had already fallen out of Voldemort's favour, mind you. All I said was that I didn't think they deserved to be executed. I never said anything about giving them a blanket pardon!"

Harry's pacing had put him next to the fireplace. He turned from Justin and looked at the room in general.

"Lucius Malfoy should have gone to Azkaban for his crimes. Permanently. Draco should have followed him for at least 20 years if not more. Narcissa had earned herself a criminal conviction if not a jail term. And yet the Wizengamot, in its infinite wisdom, let's them all off!"

There was silence. Harry continued once he was sure that his words had sunk in. "Our society is still run by blood bigots and the Old Boys network that empowered the likes of Malfoy to begin with. The death of Voldemort and his more extreme followers hasn't changed that. Our society is discriminatory, corrupt and will ultimately breed another Dark Lord if it is allowed to stay that way."

"So change it, Harry." Ron said. "You could have helped change it from the Aurors, why did you quit?"

Harry shook his head again. "I tried, Ron. Honestly, I tried. But even the Chief Auror cannot do much when the Wizengamot is determined to ignore the problems that need to be addressed. I can't arrest somebody for biased hiring practices, after all.

"I did think about reforming the Wizengamot itself, and I could have gone from being Chief Auror to that august body easily. But I'd need a majority to achieve anything, and the Wizengamot is an in-bred hot-house of nepotism and doing favours for your friends. I'd never get enough support to fix things."

"So what do you suggest?" Luna Lovegood asked gently. She had retained her maiden name when she married, and now her husband was Mr Lovegood.

Harry grinned. "Revolution. The system cannot be made to fix itself, we must fix it ourselves. Obviously we'll go about this in a more civilized manner than Voldemort and his followers, but at this stage our only hope to fix things is to bypass the system and force change."

"That's quite a statement of intent, Harry," Justin said. "As a former Auror I'm sure you know that you're proposing a blatantly illegal enterprise."

"Of course, that's why I resigned this morning." Harry said bluntly. "And no, keeping myself in that role would not have helped. If we're going to do this, it needs to be a sudden seizure of the Ministry and not a drawn out infiltration. The latter would be preferable, but we don't have the time."

"What is the rush, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Our muggleborn and halfbloods are leaving. Every year we lose hundreds as they move overseas to avoid the discrimination. And now we're seeing foreign schools of magic luring our muggleborn students away before they ever go to Hogwarts - they have recruiters visit the families after the Hogwarts representative has left and give them an introduction to what our society here in Britain is like. Not surprisingly, a lot of parents choose to send their children overseas for their education."

Hermione blanched. "I see. You're right, Harry, we must act quickly."

"I don't understand," Ron said, "why does that force us into rushing?"

Hermione shifted into teacher-mode. "The two wars against Voldemort drastically reduced our population. Not only were a lot of people killed, but birth-rates declined dramatically. It is no coincidence that my year at Hogwarts was the smallest on record since the 14th century. If people are leaving Britain, our population will start to decline to the point where the economy will collapse."

Harry picked up the thread. "I did a few University level courses in statistics and demographics to help me bring the Aurors up to date with modern policing techniques. I figure that if we don't start to turn around the exodus of muggleborn and halfbloods now, we'll have a major collapse of the economy within a decade."

There was a brief silence. Then Ron stood up. "I'm not sure I fully understand why we have to act fast rather than play the wrong game, but I know enough to have faith that you know what you're doing. I'm in, Harry."

With that, the dam was broken and there was a series of nods from the assembled crowd. Hermione blinked a few times as she realised just what they had all signed up for.

"So, do we give ourselves a name?" Harry said with his famous smile.

"Revolutions always come around again. That's why they're called revolutions."

- Terry Pratchett, "Night Watch"

Author's notes: In hindsight, this was just another "Harry and friends decide to fix the magical world" post book 7 fic. There's nothing particularly new in it, good thing I left it for other things.

17. The Prewitt Family Curse

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter universe.

First year:

"Do you have the scar?" Ron asked eagerly.

"What?" Harry replied, confused.

"You know, the lightning bolt scar! Everybody knows the Boy-Who-Lived has a lightning bolt scar on his forehead!" Ron said, leaning forward with excitement.

Harry sighed and moved his hair to reveal his scar. Ron almost squealed as he saw it.

"You and I are going to be really good friends!" The red-head said with a disturbing glint in his eye.

"Troll!" Harry said as he backed away. Hermione looked to be too frightened to move.

Ron's face took on an enraged expression. "DIE!" He screamed as he launched himself at the troll.

"He's gonna get himself killed!" Hermione screamed, "He's gonna - what?"

Somehow Ron had managed to get behind the troll and had an arm around its neck. The troll was doing its best to dislodge its attacker while Ron's free hand had something bright and shiny in it.

"Is that a knife?" Harry asked incredulously, "Where did he get that?"

Hermione winced and turned away as the knife bit home, a spurt of blood appearing on the troll's shoulder. Harry followed suit a few seconds later as an ear hit the floor.

"What did you say to Harry?" Ron growled as he turned to face Draco fully. Draco paused as he saw the look on Ron's face.

"Nothing." The blond said as he backed away.

Dumbledore hurried as he heard the sounds of battle dying away in the room that contained the Mirror of Erised. He stopped as he reached the doorway.

On the floor lay the dismembered parts of Professor Quirrell, who had a suspicious hole in the back of his head. Harry was leaning up against a wall with his wand out in a defensive posture. Ron was standing over the butchered Professor, covered in blood.

"What happened here?" The Headmaster asked in a loud voice, catching the attention of both boys.

"You don't want to know." Harry said in a dead voice.

2nd year, on the train

"Told you I could land the car on the train!" Ron said triumphantly. Harry just nodded as he looked a little green.

"Um, Harry, can I talk to you?" Ginny asked nervously. "In private?"

"Sure. Will you be good here, Ron?" Harry replied.

"I'll be fine." Ron said dismissively.

Once out in the corridor, Ginny looked around to see if anybody was listening. Satisfied that they had no eavesdroppers, she leaned in and whispered in Harry's ears.

"We need to talk privately once we get to the castle. There's something you need to know about my family."

"OK," Harry said as Ginny finished, "so your mother's side of the family has a history of mental illness?"

"Yes, it seems to run in the family," Ginny said with a pained look on her face, "Bill steals all the time. Charlie hurts animals for fun. Percy will do anything to see himself get ahead. The twins love tormenting people with their pranks. And Ron..."

"...is a certifiable psychopath." Hermione finished. "We figured that out last year."

"Yes," Ginny said miserably. "Dad didn't find out about any of this until after I was born. He figured out that I was the only one in my family who didn't have any sort of mental problem. So he's done the best he can to protect me from the rest."

"What about Ron?" Harry asked. "Why is he so fanatically loyal to me?"

"He isn't," Ginny said, "he's loyal to the Boy-Who-Lived. Ron and I were both brought up with those books in the house, and he developed a bit of an obsession with them. But it's the character he's loyal to, not you personally."

"That's...rather scary." Hermione said in a small voice.

"So, what do you want to do?" Harry asked Ginny.

Ginny sighed. "My family scares me. I know the Boy-Who-Lived books have very little to do with you, Harry, but they were the source of my first hero figure. Basically, all I want to do is protect you from my brothers."

Harry winced as he saw the snake approaching. This was definitely a bad move on Malfoy's part...Ron was in the room.

"HOW DARE YOU SET A SNAKE ON HARRY!" Ron roared as he somehow managed to leap a good twenty feet to land on the duelling stage between Harry and the snake. The snake reared up in surprise, only to have its head taken off by an over-powered cutting spell.

"DIE!" Ron explained as he launched himself on Malfoy, somehow shrugging off the stunning spell that Snape had launched at the maddened red-head.

"Are you threatening him? Are you threatening the Boy-Who-Lived?" Ron asked in a slightly manic tone as he regarded his DADA Professor.

Lockhart's eyes widened slightly as Ron's expression turned nasty. "Now, Ron, let's not be hasty-"

Whatever the fake hero was going to say next was cut off as Ron's fist smashed into his larynx. Harry closed his eyes and did his best to ignore the beating. At least he'd been able to get Ron to stop screaming like a maniac when he attacked.

Harry dodged as the Basilisk's tail whipped over his head. Fortunately for him the giant snake was distracted and blind. The latter was thanks to Fawkes arriving and ripping the monster's eyes out, the former was due to Ron using one of the empty eye sockets as a handhold while he wailed away at the Basilisk's armoured hide. Harry didn't think Ron would be able to do much damage with just his hands and feet, but it was perfect to keep the wretched beast distracted while he tried to figure out where he should stab it with Gryffindor's Sword.

Third year

"GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HARRY!" Ron screamed as he attacked the cloaked figure that had invaded their train compartment. The figure withdrew hastily as it discovered that totally fearless people were perfectly capable of breaking the bones of Dementors.

"Um, Professor?" Harry said diffidently. Remus Lupin looked over with a neutral expression on his face.

"Yes, Mr Potter?"

"I don't think Ron should confront the Boggart."

The DADA Professor looked at where the Boggart was trying to hide in a corner, desperate to get away from the red-headed boy.

"I think you might be right, Mr Potter."

"Headmaster?" Harry asked cautiously, sticking his head around the open door to Dumbledore's office. The old man blinked with surprise, as he'd had no warning of anybody entering.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Ron...er, caught somebody. Actually two people. I think you should come and take charge."

"Very well, Harry." Dumbledore said with a sigh as he stood up. Just outside his office he saw Ron Weasley holding on to a pair of very familiar (and somewhat bloodied) wizards.

"This shithole," Ron shook the more emaciated man, "thought he could kidnap me and this fuckhead," here Ron shook the more overweight man, "thought he could get away with pulling the wool over my eyes for a decade!"

Dumbledore sighed again. This looked like it would be a very long night.

Fourth year

"Are you saying that you didn't enter yourself into the Tournament? Are you really saying that?" Ron asked in a dangerous tone. Harry gulped nervously.

"Of course he didn't, Ron," Ginny put in, "the Boy-Who-Lived would never break the rules and steal somebody's glory like that. This is obviously a Death Eater plot to kill him."

Ron paused, apparently in thought. Everybody in the Gryffindor Common Room watched closely, like mice watching a snake.

"You're right," Ron said at length, "we must find out who put Harry's name into the Goblet."

The red-headed boy did not notice how everybody in the room all let out a sigh of relief as the potential explosion evaporated.

Fifth year

Harry leaned against a wall as he took a moment to catch his breath. The Prophecy Orb - or was it Sphere, he couldn't remember - was safe in his pocket for the moment and he seemed to have lost the Death Eaters.

Well, to be strictly accurate he hadn't evaded them so much as he had left them with a serious obstacle to work around.

A short distance away, Ron Weasley launched himself into the air as he went for Bellatrix Lestrange's throat.

"DIE!" He screamed as the Death Eater's Cruciatus Curse failed to make any impression on the Gryffindor 5th Year.

"Harry Potter, we meet again-" Voldemort began before he was cut off.

"DIE BASTARD DIE!" Ron screamed as he charged at the Dark Lord, clutching a dagger in each hand. Harry wondered where his fellow Gryffindor had found the knives, as Ron had not been allowed any sharp blades since his first Potions lesson.

Author's notes:

This is a rough outline of an idea I had about a year ago.

In essence, the Prewitt family (Molly Weasley's clan for those that don't remember) have a history of insanity. Just about every member for as far back as there are records had some sort of mental illness. Molly herself was sociopathic enough that she never saw why using love potions on Arthur was wrong, Bill is a kleptomaniac who channels that into being a Gringott's tomb robber, Charlie is a sadist who uses "being cruel to be kind" on dragons, etc.

Ron is a raging psychopath on a level that would scare Freddy Krueger. And he is devoted, body and soul, to the Boy-Who-Lived. Not to Harry, but to the Boy-Who-Lived. Which is both a blessing and a curse for Harry, as he has a fanatically devoted follower/weapon while Ron thinks that Harry is the BWL, but should Harry do anything to make Ron doubt that title...badness. Plus Ron's responses to people having a go at Harry are way, way over the top, forcing Harry and Hermione to spend a lot of time reining Ron in.

Ginny is the only sane member of the Prewitt bloodline. I can think of a number of reasons for this, starting with pure genetic luck or some magical "7th child of a 7th child" coincidence. Either way, she knows that her family is crazy and wants to protect Harry from them. No crush or hero worship, just a resigned determination to prevent her siblings from damaging the BWL.

This is up for adoption. Make of this what you will.

18. A Weasley Conspiracy

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter universe.

"Fred, George...I need your help." Ginny said in a small voice as she walked up to the pair. The twins glanced at each other, before they escorted their sister to a room where they knew that they wouldn't be overheard.

"What is it, dear sister?" One of them asked.

Ginny looked worried. "I need to brew at least two doses of full-strength Amortentia. Maybe more. I have no idea where I'd even find the recipe, and I thought you two might be able to help."

"Whoa! What brought this on?" Gred asked incredulously.

Ginny now looked distressed. "I overheard a conversation between the Headmaster and our parents during the summer break. He is planning to get Harry and I married, regardless of what we might want."

The twins just stared. "...we thought you wanted to marry Harry. You played the game with Luna enough when you were small."

Ginny flashed a small smile, which vanished quickly. "I wanted to marry Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived. The boy in the books dad used to read to me. But after several years at Hogwarts, I've found that The Boy-Who-Lived doesn't exist...and I've learned a lot about Harry Potter."

The twins nodded. They'd figured out the truth behind the BWL series of books within months of Harry's Sorting.

Ginny continued. "I like the Harry I've come to know, but I don't want to marry him. We just aren't suited for each other. I'd rather have him as a happy friend rather than a resentful husband."

"That's fine, Gin, but where does the Amortentia come into it?" Forge asked.

"Dumbledore is planning to dose me and Harry with Amortentia later this year," Ginny said with a trace of anger. "He's blackmailing our parents with something, I'm not sure what but it must be something big because it shut them both up quickly. Mum was very angry about the whole idea, but after the Headmaster showed them a piece of parchment she went very pale and just stayed quiet while Dad did the rest of the talking."

"So you want to get in first...?" Gred asked.

"Yes." Ginny said firmly. "We've kept it private, but Neville and I have been dating steadily since the ball last year. He's already talked about starting negotiations for a betrothal contract. When I told him about what I overheard, he had the idea of us dosing each other to block any future potions."

"Yes, somebody already in the grip of Amortentia can't be dosed again," Forge mused, "any later applications will just have no effect. So that's one dose for you, and one for Neville...you said you might want more?"

Ginny glanced around the room. "I have no idea if Harry is interested in any girl in a serious way. It is obvious that his thing with Cho is just infatuation on his part and a poor attempt to hold onto Cedric on hers. But if he does look like he might have found a girl that is good for him, we can offer him the chance to protect himself from any love potions the Headmaster might try to dose him with."

The twins looked at each other for a long moment. Then they nodded and turned back to their sister.

"We're in. We know the recipe already and can get the ingredients easily enough. Give us a month, maybe two, and we'll be ready. But we want a written contract from you and Neville that this is really want you want."

Ginny nodded, looking determined. "You'll get it. Thank you for this."

Author's Note: I've seen a lot of stories that have some or all of the Weasley family conspiring to marry Harry off to Ginny as some part of getting his money or keeping him under an evil Dumbledore's control. This is an alternative approach in which Dumbledore is blackmailing the Weasleys into being co-conspirators.

19. Safe Disposal

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Buffy the Vampire Slayer franchise.

Giles rubbed his forehead tiredly. He had developed a headache over the course of the conversation.

"OK, tell me again why we don't need to worry about the Judge."

His fellow Watcher took a sip of tea before he responded. "Well, we became aware of various supernatural powers developing some interest in tracking down all of the Judge's parts in the 1960s. So we set about collecting them ourselves."

Rupert looked pained. "Please don't tell me that we found them all. The last thing I want is that mad vampire attacking our headquarters."

The other Watcher shook their head. "No, we weren't that successful. We did find his head, an arm and part of his torso."

"That's bad enough," Rupert grated out, "so where are these parts stored?"

There was a noticeable pause. Rupert sighed. "Please tell me that they are somewhere secure."

"Well, they are a bit inaccessible," the other Watcher said after considering the matter. "You have to remember that in the 60s and 70s we had people in the governments of both the USA and USSR. So we had access to some...disposal sites...that we couldn't get at today."

"Such as?" Rupert asked tiredly.

"Well, as for the Judge's head...let's just say that Voyager 1 was slightly heavier than Voyager 2 was."

Rupert just stared. His fellow Watcher continued, hurriedly.

"Er, his arm went to Venus in one of the Russian probes, so it is on the surface there somewhere. As for the piece of his torso we found...um, I think that is on the moon. Somewhere, I can't remember which mission it went up with. Unless it went to Mars with one of the Viking missions, I'm really just not sure."

Rupert shook his head. He didn't want to even think about how Drusilla would react to this.

20. Mother's Day

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Harry lightly grasped Hermione's hand as they sat before a large desk in the Ministry of Magic. Behind it sat Percy Weasley, who appeared to be sorting a very thick file full of parchment. Hermione's free hand was in motion as she played with the engagement ring that Harry had given her just a few days earlier.

"Right, that's got it sorted. Sorry about the wait, Harry, but this file keeps growing every time I take my eyes off it." Percy explained apologetically. Harry just smiled.

"Don't worry, Percy, I think I can understand."

"Fine," Percy replied, "now to the subject of today's meeting. First of all, congratulations on your engagement."

"Thank you," Hermione said with a blush.

Percy just smiled back. "There are, however, some old Ministry laws that have been brought up by your engagement. You are aware that Sirius Black named you his heir in his will?"

"Yes, that's why I had Grimmauld Place." Harry replied tightly. That memory still hurt.

"Well, that means you are now the new Lord Black as well as Lord Potter," Percy continued, "but that isn't all."

"Oh?" Hermione inquired.

"The final report that Shacklebolt gave to the Wizengamot revealed that Riddle was the last direct heir of the Gaunts," Percy explained, "who were in turn the last direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin. As such the Wizengamot has decided to grant Harry the title of Lord Slytherin by right of conquest."

Harry's eyes went out of focus for a moment. "They can do that?"

Percy shrugged. "The ink is still drying on the decree, so it seems so. They also decided to take advantage of the old rumour that the Potters were somehow related to Godric Gryffindor and have made you Lord Gryffindor as well."

Hermione frowned. "Was there ever a dynastic house of Gryffindor to begin with?"

Percy shrugged again. "I have no idea, and I'm guessing the Wizengamot just doesn't care. It wouldn't be the first noble house they've created from nowhere, just look at the Malfoys."

Harry nodded. "That makes a lot of sense, actually."

Percy picked up a piece of parchment. "And finally. thanks to the rumours of the Deathly Hallows, you've also been made Lord Peverell. Congratulations, Harry, you're now the head of five noble houses."

Harry shook his head in disbelief. "The more I hear about the Wizengamot, the better I like fish."

Percy grinned in response. "I can understand that completely. Sadly there is a very real consequence to this rash of titles."

"Consequence?" Hermione asked with narrowed eyes.

"Yes, and you aren't going to like it." Percy replied as he picked up another piece of parchment. "Harry is now subject to the Line Continuation Act of 1640, also known as the LCA."

"The what?" Harry asked, baffled.

Percy focused on the parchment he held. "It's an act the Wizengamot passed that was intended to prevent noble houses from dying out completely. It applies when a noble house is reduced to just one legitimate heir, which certainly applies to Harry."

Hermione frowned again. "So what does it mean to Harry?"

Percy cleared his throat. "Well, first of all it allows Harry to take one wife for each of the families he is now the head of."

There was a moment of silence, before Hermione exploded. "You mean polygamy is legal in magical Britain?!"

Percy hesitated for a moment. "Well, only in this case. The LCA is the only act we know of that allows for polygamy, otherwise our laws on marriage are similar to muggle laws."

Hermione fumed. Harry stepped in before she could rant. "Is it compulsory?"

"No," Percy promptly replied, "it is just an option that you can choose to ignore."

"Let's do that." Hermione growled, glaring at Harry and Percy.

"Before you make a final decision..." Percy stated, "let me explain what the rest of the LCA has in it. Remember that this was to prevent the extinction of noble houses. To ensure that, the act mandates a certain number of children must be borne for each house."

"What?" Hermione said incredulously, looking slightly pale.

"It says so quite clearly," Percy said in a professorial tone, "the last heir must produce at least three male children and two female children for each house that he is the head of."

There was a moment of silence, which Harry broke. "Why?"

Percy shrugged. "To be honest I have no idea why those specific numbers. It probably had something to do with social expectations of the 17th century. The real point is that the law hasn't been changed since and these obligations will definitely apply to you."

"So you're saying that Harry has to have at least 25 children?!" Hermione half-shouted.

Percy nodded. "At least. Remember that each house needs three sons and two daughters, so Harry will have to keep...fathering children until he reaches those targets. There is one case from the 18th century where the family ended up with 11 sons before they managed to produce the requisite number of daughters."

Hermione paled even further, which led Harry to worry about her health.

"So, at least 25 children, possibly a lot more," she finally whispered.

"Yes. Which is why they put in a provision for multiple wives, I guess." Percy said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Hermione turned to Harry with a determined look on her face. "We'll start listing candidates and think about how we will approach people regarding this. Let's go, now."

Harry nodded as he stood. "I'll get back to you once I know more," he said to Percy as Hermione grabbed his arm to pull him from the room. Percy just waved as he returned his attention to his crowded desk.

Author's note: Just an idea I had for why somebody like Hermione might be willing to allow her husband a harem.

Some of my beta readers came up with alternatives that Hermione might try instead of resorting to a harem, the obvious being IVF and surrogate mothers. The obvious problem is that with a law drafted in the 17th century, provisions such as "legitimate issue" are pretty much a given.

There's also the old "leave Britain" plotline that many a fic has tried before, with almost as many methods used by the Ministry of Magic to thwart it. I'll leave that one to your collective imaginations.

21. The Hogwarts Book

Disclaimer: I don't own the intellectual rights to any of the material referenced in the following story. At all.

Harry looked at his DADA Professor with a bemused expression. "Uh, what did you just say?"

Gilderoy Lockhart puffed up and did his best to look noble. "I wish to establish myself as a hero for the good wizards of Britain, so that I may protect them all from the forces of darkness!"

Harry blinked in astonishment. The man was obviously insane. "OK. So what do you want from me again?"

"Well, Harry," Lockhart said, "it is like this..."

Suddenly the DADA Professor waved his wand and a large number of miniature clones of the famous author appeared. Some were arranged as a choir, others were manning musical instruments. Before Harry could do anything, they started playing music. Then Lockhart started to sing.

(to the tune of "I Wan'na Be Like You (The Monkey Song)")

Now, I'm the king of the wizards

Oh, the Hogwarts VIP

I've reached the top and had to stop

And that's what's botherin' me

I wanna be a hero, Harry

With fangirls flocking 'round

And piles of gold right in my vault

I'm tired of holdin' my ground

Oh, oobee doo (hoopdeewee)

I wanna be like you-hoo-hoo (hapdeedoobydoowop)

I wanna walk like you (cheep)

Talk like you too-oo-o (weebydeebydeewoo)

You'll see it's true (shoobedeedoo)

A wimp like me-e-e (scoobeedoobeedoobeep)

Can learn to be

Heroic too-oo-oo!

At this point Lockhart started to dance, and was quickly joined by his chorus line of mini-Lockharts. Harry was forced to admit that it was an impressive dance sequence.

As the dance number started to wind down, Harry decided to humour the man in the hopes of getting away unharmed. "Gee, Professor, you're doing really well!"

Lockhart beamed at the Boy-Who-Lived, even as the music continued. "Now here's your part, Harry. Tell me the secret of your fame!"

Harry was bewildered. "But I don't know why I'm so famous."

Lockhart looked angry, and started singing again.

Now, don't try to kid me, Harry

I made a deal with you

What I require is to be desired

To make my dream come true

Now gimme the secret, Harry

Come on, clue me what to do

Give me the secret of your fame

So I can be like you

At this point Fawkes flamed in behind Lockhart, accompanied by Dumbledore. Lockhart did not notice the new arrivals, even as Fawkes started to sing along.

Yoo-hoo-hoo! (hoopdeeweep)

I wanna be like you-oo-oo (hapdeedoobedoobop)

I wanna talk like you (cheep)

Walk like you (cheep), too-oo-oo (weebadeebadoodop)

Albus Dumbledore finally intervened and made his presence known. Harry's relief was short-lived as the Headmaster started to sing as well.

You'll see it's true-oo-oo (Shhobeedeeboo)

Someone like me-ee-ee (scoobeedoobeedooweep)

Can learn to be

Like someone like me

Take me home, daddy!

Can learn to be

Like someone like you

One more time!

Yeah!

Can learn to be

Like someone like me

Harry looked around the street, fascinated that nobody seemed to notice the pair of wizards in full robes walking next to him. Apparently Sirius had managed to talk Remus into rescuing Harry from the Dursleys early this summer. Now Sirius seemed determined to give Harry some "proper Marauding knowledge." Whatever that meant.

"So, what is it that Marauders do?" Harry asked diffidently. Sirius beamed at him.

"I'm glad you asked, Harry!" the escaped prisoner exclaimed, waving his wand. Background music came out of nowhere, even as Remus slapped a hand over his eyes and groaned. To Harry's astonishment, his godfather started singing.

(to the tune of "The Bare Necessities")

Look for the Grim necessities

The simple Grim necessities

Forget about your worries and your strife

I mean the Grim necessities

Like old Marauder recipes

That brings the Grim necessities of life

Wherever I wander, wherever I roam

I couldn't be happier away from my old home

The maids are busy in the pub

To get me beer and lots of grub

When you look in the Indian takeaway

And take a pew at the vindaloo

Then maybe try a kebab

At this point Harry burst out in shocked surprise, "You eat kebabs?!"

Sirius just grinned. "You better believe it!"

The Grim necessities of life will come to you

They'll come to you!

Look for the Grim necessities

The simple Grim necessities

Forget about your worries and your strife

I mean the Grim necessities

That's why Marauders rest at ease

With just the Grim necessities of life

Now when you eat a Chocolate Frog

Or a Canary Cream

And you end up cheeping

Just don't whinge and scream

Don't take the Canary Cream for yourself

When you plan a prank

Try to fool a snake

But you don't need to fool a snake

When you find a Chocolate Frog to take

Have I given you a clue ?

Harry nodded uncertainly, even as Remus appeared to be busy casting a Patronus charm at a pair of Dementors that had appeared out of nowhere.

The Grim necessities of life will come to you

They'll come to you!

So just try and relax, yeah cool it

Fall apart in my backyard

'Cause let me tell you something little Prongslet

Acting like a Ravenclaw, uh uh

You're working too hard

And don't spend your time lookin' around

For something you want that can't be found

When you find out you can live without it

And go along not thinkin' about it

I'll tell you something true

The Grim necessities of life will come to you

Author's notes: This abomination can be blamed on Clell, who came up with the idea of re-writing the Disney film adaptation of "The Jungle Book" in a Harry Potter setting.

"I Wan'na Be Like You (The Monkey Song)" was written by Robert and Richard Sherman.

"The Bare Necessities" was written by Terry Gilkyson.

Both songs appeared in the 1967 Disney animated film "The Jungle Book."

22. Two red-heads collide

Disclaimers at the end.

Halloween, 1991

Ron Weasley felt a surge of relief and excitement as his spell successfully levitated the troll's club above its head. He ended the spell and the club fell onto the troll's head, knocking it unconscious. The troll started to fall forward with Harry on its back.

As the troll fell over, Ron noticed that the club was coming his way. He squeaked in fright and moved to get out of the way, but tripped over some debris on the floor. The club narrowly missed him as he hit his head on the floor, knocking him unconscious. Harry and Hermione were distracted by the sight of the fallen troll and did not notice their fellow student's predicament.

Inside Ron's mind

"What the hell was that? Where am I? Just what is going on?"

Grey mist seemed to swirl around, obscuring all sight beyond a few metres away.

"Last thing I remember is...a club coming my way, tripping over. Hang on, I also remember getting hit by a spell from..."

Realisation dawned.

"Damn it all, that over-dramatic fool must have finally found something that worked. And here I thought I'd be done in by food poisoning. So what now?"

With self examination came a degree of awareness.

"So now I'm also this Ron Weasley...strange, I can remember everything now. Growing up at the Burrow, but also with my old man...heh, now I'm multi-lingual. And they said I'd never learn anything in class."

Light seemed to be coming from behind.

"Hmm, waking up? Best to see what's happening out there...from what I can remember, this body of mine will need some training. Have to see how I can swing that."

The light was a lot brighter now.

"Looks like I left the curse behind, though..."

Back in the real world

Harry squirmed slightly as his Head of House examined Ron. Professor Snape was standing to one side, glaring at the Boy-Who-Lived and obviously waiting for a chance to vent his spleen away from Professor McGonagall.

Suddenly Ron woke up and rolled to his feet with what looked like practiced grace. Professor McGonagall looked startled.

"Are you alright, Mr Weasley?"

"I'm just peachy, Professor. How're Harry and Hermione?" The redhead replied.

The Transfiguration Professor blinked slightly at Ron's tone of voice. "They seem to be well. It is you I'm worried about, that was quite the blow to your head you took there."

"I'm just fine. Just a mild ache, it's going away already."

"We'll have you checked out in the Medical Wing," McGonagall stated firmly, "and perhaps now you can explain why the three of you were here rather than in your dormitory?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but was beaten to it by Ron. "It's my fault, Professor. I said something horrible to Hermione earlier and she was so upset she hid in the bathroom here. She wasn't in the hall for the feast so she didn't get the warning about the troll, so Harry and I came to get her."

"And it didn't occur to you to get a Prefect or member of staff?" Snape asked acidly. Ron shrugged.

"By the time we realised where Hermione was, there was nobody near enough. We didn't have much time."

"We'll speak about this later once you've been checked over by Poppy Pomfrey," McGonagall said sternly, "in the meantime you two get back to your dormitory."

Harry nodded and gently escorted Hermione away, as the girl seemed to be stunned by Ron's intervention. She glanced over her shoulder as they reached the door, and saw Ron walking with the two professors with more confidence than she'd ever seen him with before.

As Harry and Hermione moved out of sight, Ron smirked to himself. I can take any punishment they throw at me for this. I deserve it for being a right berk. After all, Ron Weasley and Ranma Saotome never lose!

Disclaimer: I own no part of Harry Potter or Ranma ½

Notes: The basic idea is that Kuno finally managed to tag Ranma with a spell that banished his soul (for want of a better term) to the Potterverse, sometime after the defeat of Saffron and the failed wedding. The Potterverse is not the same as the Ranmaverse, so there's no Jusenkyo or Chinese Amazons. The curse did not carry over, as it was a case of Ranma's soul re-incarnating as Ron, so a new body with no curse. Ranma's abnormal healing factor has somehow transferred over, hence Ron's head trauma not being nearly as bad as McGonagall expects.

The blow to the head unlocked all of Ranma's old memories in Ron, resulting in a personality that is a combination of 18-19 year old Ranma and 11-12 year old Ron. Ron's insecurity just got nuked by Ranma's supreme confidence, though it will take a lot of physical training before he'll be able to use all of Ranma's old martial arts techniques. Not that this will stop him.

Ronma never loses, after all.

23. Elemental Magic

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Hermione growled gently as she closed the book she had been reading. Yet another dead end, yet more wasted time.

Sighing, she looked down her table in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library to see Ron and Luna engrossed with their own books. After the debacle at the Department of Mysteries, Hermione had been singularly unimpressed with how any of the 'responsible' adults in her life had handled things. The Order of the Phoenix had been vindicated, but beyond putting Hogwarts back under Dumbledore's control and removing Fudge from office, nothing had been achieved.

When Dumbledore had asked Hermione to avoid contacting Harry during the summer holidays, she had assumed that the Boy-Who-Lived had been involved in special project or training course. Instead she had discovered that her friend had been kept isolated and alone, denied contact when he most needed it after the death of Sirius.

Thoroughly disenchanted with Dumbledore and his cronies, Hermione had decided to do something of her own. Unsure of how to proceed, she had fallen back on her tried and true approach and thrown herself into research.

She had persuaded Professor McGonagall to give her a permanent pass to the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library. Hermione's plan was to find something that would give those opposed to Voldemort an edge. She had recruited Ron easily enough, her old friend having discovered a new determination after his experiences at the Department of Mysteries. Unfortunately Harry had been unable to help, as he was spending a lot of time with the Headmaster this year. Harry would not reveal what he was doing with Dumbledore, but Hermione could see that the Boy-Who-Lived was not particularly impressed with what was going on during those sessions.

Fortunately, Luna Lovegood had volunteered to help after she had met Hermione and Ron at the library. While Hermione was not convinced about Luna's odd theories of how the world worked, there was no denying that the fifth year Ravenclaw was an excellent researcher.

Unfortunately, the contents of the Restricted Section did not live up to the reputation that surrounded the only part of the library that was not freely available to all students. So far Hermione had found plenty of theoretical discussions that were fascinating from an academic perspective, but useless for her purposes. She was starting to think that a new plan might be required.

"Uh, Hermione?" Ron suddenly said, interrupting Hermione' thoughts, "I think this one might be helpful."

"What have you got there, Ron?" Hermione asked as she stood up to walk over to where Ron was sitting.

Ron lifted the book up to show Hermione the spine. "The title is pretty long, but the basic idea seems to revolve around elemental magic. That stuff is old, I don't know of anybody who knows it these days."

Luna looked up from her own book and smiled brightly. "Oh yes, that used to be quite popular amongst heliopath hunters. There's nothing like a good bit of wind elemental magic for tracking down illusive prey."

Hermione paused from where she was looking over Ron's shoulder. "Hold on, you mean elements as in the classical Greek elements? Earth, Air, Fire, Water, Aether? Those elements?"

"Of course," Luna replied, looking faintly puzzled, "what other elements are there?"

Hermione gritted her teeth at yet another example of how out of touch much of the magical world was. "I'll introduce you to the Periodic Table later. What in particular did you find in this book, Ron?"

Ron pointed at the chapter heading of the section he had found. "This talks about creating elementals, magical creatures that embody the characteristics of the element they are made of. I was thinking that elementals are pretty resistant to magic and are quite strong, so creating some to fight Death Eaters might be helpful."

Hermione sat next to Ron and started to read the book in Ron's hands. Ron promptly handed it over without being prompted, allowing Hermione to quickly read through the entire chapter on the creation of elementals.

"This has promise," Hermione decided after finishing the chapter, "but it could be improved. Let's go to the Room of Requirement, I want to explore this idea."

Several weeks later, Hermione felt that they were ready for the next stage. She had spent some time reviewing the theory behind the creation of elementals, in between teaching Ron and Luna about the Periodic Table of Elements and the logic behind it. Now they were about to try the next step.

"OK, so if we add a few drops of our potion here," Hermione muttered as she moved around the runic circle on the floor, "then cast the charm of creation here…"

The room lit up as the runes inscribed on the floor glowed brightly, the mass of material in the centre of the circle shining so brightly that the three students had to cover their eyes. Then, the light show stopped just as quickly it had begun.

"Your command, Mistress?" a deep voice suddenly intoned. Hermione looked to the centre of the circle and saw a large humanoid figure, slightly hunched over to avoid hitting its head on the ceiling.

"Crikey, you weren't wrong about other elements working," Ron said quietly.

"No, and may I congratulate you on the creation of the world's first Iron Elemental," Luna said happily, "can I call him Rusty?"

"No." Hermione answered abruptly. "OK, Ron, let's try your idea."

A few days later, Hermione reviewed their progress. Her own elemental had demonstrated many of the characteristics of iron. It was considerably stronger than any creature of equivalent size and it was remarkably resistant to magical attacks (Luna had attributed this to the cold iron effect, a hypothesis Hermione thought was at least likely), but it was the other abilities that had surprised even Hermione. It had shown itself capable of creating extremely strong magnetic fields at will, and had then translated that into generating electrical current in itself and surrounding metals. Hermione was not sure just how much electricity her elemental could generate, but she had seen it melt down a thick iron bar that they had been using during the testing process.

Ron had decided to use copper, and had created a small fox-shaped elemental as a result. They had not finished testing the copper elemental, but it had proven to be fast and nimble. Hermione was not sure if that was thanks to the copper or the shape.

Now it was time for Luna's elemental, but Hermione was dubious about the Ravenclaw's choice of material.

"Are you sure, Luna? It's a gas, the magic might not even work on it," Hermione asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Of course I'm sure," Luna replied serenely, "now I will cast the final charm after you open the valve on the tank."

Hermione glanced at Ron, who just shrugged. Sighing gently, Hermione opened the valve, allowing gas to be released from the hose they had suspended from the ceiling over the runic circle. After a few seconds, Luna cast the final charm that would start the creation of an elemental.

Already knowing what to expect, the three students had already covered their eyes to protect themselves from the bright light that was a by-product of the creation of an elemental. When it finished, Hermione looked at the centre of the circle and was surprised to see that there was a barely visible cloud-like creature that seemed to be changing shape constantly.

"Wonderful!" Luna cried, clapping her hands, "I think I'll call you Gassy!"

Hermione shivered slightly as the wind gusted around the makeshift campsite she had established with Ron and Luna. They were on a hill roughly fifteen miles away from Malfoy Manor, which was situated west of Fort Augustus in Scotland. She had been surprised by this, fully expecting that a family like the Malfoys would build in London itself to be close to the Ministry, but Ron had explained that many Pureblood families preferred remote locations in order to avoid muggles. Their chosen site was out of the line of sight of the manor, but it was only a short walk up to the top of the hill where a good magical telescope would allow them to observe the building complex. They had wanted a closer vantage point, but Ron had cautioned them all about the risk of being detected by the Malfoy's wards. Their current location was as close as they dared approach.

Ron's copper elemental had been extremely useful for gathering intelligence, eavesdropping on the older Slytherin students. From overheard conversations and intercepted mail, they had determined that Voldemort was currently living in the Malfoy Manor. Hermione had decided that this would be a good opportunity to try out the small force of iron elementals that they had been crafting, a total of fifty like her original now standing ready.

Ron had suggested that some careful reconnaissance was required before they sent their small army into action. Hermione had agreed, and Luna had offered to send her hydrogen elemental in to check the manor. Hermione still refused to call it by Luna's chosen name of 'Gassy.'

Still, she had been forced to acknowledge that Luna's elemental was quite useful. Being a gas, it could slip into any area that was not completely air-tight. It also had a fairly potent attack, shooting a concentrated stream of hydrogen gas at a target quickly enough that friction with the surrounding air caused it to spontaneously ignite. Hermione theorised that the elemental replenished itself by stripping hydrogen atoms from water molecules in the atmosphere, something that would be impossible without magic.

"Gassy says that he has found Voldemort," Luna said, reporting what her elemental was communicating to her via a complex set of rune stones the Ravenclaw had assembled, "he says that there seem to be a lot of other people around."

"Death Eaters, I'm guessing," Ron put in, "any idea how many there are?"

Luna frowned for a moment, before nodding once. "Gassy says that there are only a dozen or so wizards and witches around, but that there are a lot of mountain trolls in the dungeons below the manor."

Hermione frowned. While her iron elementals were strong and resilient, a troll's club might be able to damage them enough to allow the Death Eaters to escape. "Any idea how many trolls?"

Luna paused again, before answering. "At least eighty. They're just in the cells, they're not chained up at all."

"Makes it easy to let them out if the manor comes under attack," Ron muttered. Hermione nodded in agreement.

"We'll have to create more elementals before we can attack," Hermione said, "maybe try other elements to give us more variety."

Luna suddenly sat upright, shouting into her communications array. "No, Gassy, don't! We can try something else!"

Hermione was about to ask the blonde what was going on when an incredibly bright flash of light seemed to come from the direction of the Malfoy Manor. The light was bright enough that she was temporarily blinded, but before she could react to it an incredibly loud noise threatened to deafen the three.

"OK, you three have a lot to answer for," the senior Government figure said sternly as he sat in front of the 'elemental trio' at Hogwarts.

"The explosion in Scotland nearly started a war," a senior member of the RAF said ominously, "it was only after some frantic calls between London, Washington, Paris, Moscow and Beijing that we were able to determine that nobody was launching pre-emptive strikes. Now we find that you three are somehow responsible. So, explain yourselves."

Hermione swallowed, and explained how the three had been experimenting with elementals. She went over how they had learned of the concept, and how she had then expanded upon it. She concluded by giving an overview of how Luna had created her own particular elemental, taking care to emphasise that the actions of "Gassy" had surprised all of them.

"Well," the RAF officer said after Hermione had finished, "I now have a better idea of just how we ended up with a 150 kiloton explosion within spitting distance of Loch Ness. I suppose we were lucky that this manor you were reconnoitring was in an uninhabited area."

"Honestly, we had no idea that a hydrogen elemental could start a chain reaction of hydrogen fusion," Hermione said somewhat desperately, "there was nothing to indicate that the elementals would ever be intelligent enough to even understand the concept, let alone do it."

"Gassy was smarter than you ever gave him credit for," Luna replied haughtily, "and now he's the world's first helium elemental. I think he deserves a peerage, his nature demands it. Lord Gassy sounds right to me."

The Government representative who had declined to identify himself cleared his throat meaningfully. "While we are prepared to accept that this event was entirely unintended on your part, we still have to deal with the consequences. Starting with a decent cover story."

"I thought the usual explanation used by the Ministry of Magic was to call it a gas explosion," Luna offered in a cheerful tone, "can't we just use that one?"

The RAF officer blinked. "While that may be technically correct, Miss Lovegood, it won't work in this situation."

"How about we blame it on a meteorite or something? Like the Tunguska explosion of 1908?" Hermione suggested.

The RAF officer glanced at his colleague, who nodded minutely. "That would work. We could doctor some photos and attribute them to a tourist or something. Get some scientists on the TV to talk about the old Tunguska event. I think we could get Patrick Moore to do something, what do you think?"

"It sounds workable," the unnamed Government heavy mused, "but as for you three…"

"What'll happen to us?" Ron asked, looking worried.

"Well, all of your research will have to be suppressed to start with. After that, well, once you finish here at Hogwarts you'll be working at the magical section of Porton Down."

"There's a magical section of Porton Down?" Hermione asked without thinking.

"Of course," the RAF officer said firmly, "though that's classified. As is everything we've discussed here."

Luna pouted. "I don't want to work at a boring job like that, I want to search the world for mysterious creatures like dad."

Dumbledore took this opportunity to insert himself into the conversation. "I am afraid, Miss Lovegood, that if you refuse this job offer then the only alternative will be obliviation. I am fairly certain that I can remove only the memories and knowledge of this elemental creation process, but there is a good chance you'll lose more."

Luna's pout turned into a frown. "That's even less appealing."

"That's what you get for creating weapons of mass destruction, even if it was by accident," Dumbledore said heavily, "now I believe these gentlemen have some forms for you to sign. Something about non-disclosure agreements, I believe?"

"Close enough," the RAF officer said as he reached into his briefcase.

Author's Notes: I was playing a fantasy video game the other day that featured fire and water elementals. This plot bunny grew out of that. Funny how my mind works at times.

For those that might be wondering, I spent some time with a website that performs rough and ready calculations of the damage various nuclear weapons would do at map locations chosen via Google maps. I used 150 kt as the yield as that matches the stated yield of the American W80 warhead, which is used as the payload on nuclear cruise missiles. I managed to find a place that would have no casualties (estimated) if a 150 kt nuke went off at ground level. Said place happens to be fairly close to Loch Ness.

The Tunguska explosion in 1908 was somewhere between 10 and 15 megatons (or up to 100 times more powerful than the explosion I used for this story), which gives you an idea of just how much energy is involved when gravity gets working.

24. Prepared (Star Wars)

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Star Wars franchise.

Darth Sidious looked at the wreckage of the room following his confrontation with four Jedi Masters. It had been far too close, only his careful grooming of Anakin Skywalker had saved the Sith Master from Mace Windu. His new apprentice was now on his way to the Jedi Temple to deal with the "younglings."

"Well, it seems that the Jedi have become a threat to the galaxy," he said, mostly to himself, "time to end this."

Palpatine moved to his communication centre and went through the process required to activate Order 66. Once he had finished he leaned back in his chair, visions of Jedi dying at the hands of their trusted Clone Troopers delighting him.

"Well, aren't you full of yourself?" a voice said from across the room. Palpatine spun around in his chair to see a middle aged female human dressed as a Jedi Master.

"Who are you?" the Sith Master demanded, not recognizing this particular Jedi. After all this time he thought he knew all of them.

The woman raised an eyebrow. "My name is of no consequence, at least to you. The more pertinent question for you is - why am I here?"

Palpatine's eyes narrowed. "That had crossed my mind. I have already dispatched four Jedi Masters today, are you here to be the fifth?"

The woman smiled mockingly. "I noticed that you needed help for that fourth Master, or are you in the habit of using Force Lightning on yourself? Besides, I am not so foolish as to confront a Sith of your skill by myself."

"Quite," another voice, this one apparently from a male human, said from behind Palpatine, "we have been preparing for this for some time."

Palpatine hastily looked behind him, only to discover that he was now surrounded by more than a dozen beings dressed as Jedi Masters.

"I must say that you are one of the more devious Sith we've seen for a while," the woman who had first spoken went on, "infiltrating the Republic via the democratic process requires more patience than the average Sith has. Such a shame for you that you and your Master weren't nearly as clever as you thought."

Palpatine snarled as he turned back around to face the woman. "So, you would have me believe that you've been watching me this whole time? Please, if you had known about me I would never have made it this far."

"That's where you are mistaken," the woman replied with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "we are not of the main Jedi Order. We are the watchers in the dark, the Jedi who take the long view. We found out about your plans back when you were still just a student, but it suited our purposes to let you proceed."

The Sith Master laughed once, sharply. "I doubt that. Jedi allowing a war to be fomented? Permitting the deaths of how many billions? You are too soft to even think about such a state of affairs, let alone allow it to occur."

"And that's where you are only partially correct," the woman stated evenly, "certainly none of the current Jedi Council members would even contemplate allowing all of your plans to be carried out. But we, as I said, take the long view. And long before you started your rise to power, we could see that the Galaxy was becoming corrupt.

"The Republic became far too complacent and the Jedi Order too wedded to the government. Corruption of the political process was overlooked by the Order, while generations of politicians became used to the Jedi saving them from their own failings. It was well past time for the galaxy to be reminded why the Jedi Order is important, just as it was also important that the Order be reminded why it should not allow itself to be made a tool of the government."

Palpatine stared. The implications were shocking.

The woman smiled again. "So we let you manufacture this war. We let the Order go into battle ignorant of your plans. We allowed the Republic to be turned into a military dictatorship. Because it will serve as a useful object lesson."

"Such a shame that you've let it go too long," Palpatine said, sneering, "even as I speak your precious Order is being destroyed."

"If you mean Order 66, we changed that years ago," the woman replied, "those Clone Troopers are solely loyal to the Jedi. Which means that all you've done is give the Order an army. And as for young Anakin, well, he will find that the 501st Legion will be unwilling to attack the Jedi Temple. He will also find a number of my colleagues waiting to take him into custody...or kill him, if it comes to that."

"I cannot believe this," Palpatine hissed, "no Jedi could be so coldly calculating and stay true to the Light Side."

"It is hard," the woman admitted, "but as I said, we take the long view. From a certain point of view, a bit of blood shed now will save a lot more blood shed later on. That attitude has meant that we have been a secret part of the Order for thousands of years, so secret that even the Council was not aware of our existence. And thanks to that secrecy..."

More than a dozen lightsabers ignited simultaneously.

"...you have to be kept quiet."

Author's Notes: the basic idea is that there has always been a covert branch of the Jedi Order that is quite Machiavellian in its approach, a branch the rest of the Order is kept ignorant of. They allowed Palpatine's plans to proceed for much the same reason that Ozymandias created a disaster/crisis in "Watchmen."

As for the "evil villain" exposition - well, even Jedi can enjoy a bit of schadenfreude, especially when their Xanatos Gambit comes to fruition.

Regarding my other writing - I ran into a monster writing block on "Circle of Light" but I'm working my way through it. Sorry about the lack of updates.

25. Fighting the Sharingan

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Naruto franchise.

Naruto bounced into the Hokage's office. Bounced, the Hokage thought, that's the appropriate term. I don't think there's another ninja in the world that would enter the office of their Kage like that.

Somewhere in the Elemental Nations, a certain rapping nin sneezed.

"What've you got for me, granny?" Naruto asked exuberantly. His cheer was diminished by the impact of an empty sake bottle on his forehead.

"Brat! Don't call me that!" Tsunade growled. Naruto looked unconcerned at the annoyance he had caused.

Tsunade sighed and continued. "Now listen up. Your apprenticeship with Jiraiya has been approved, but you won't start training with him for another 3 months."

Naruto looked puzzled. "Why not?"

"Ah, there was an incident that put him in hospital. He won't be fit for travel for some time," Shizune put in.

In intensive care, Jiraiya looked at the sketch of a large group of bathing kunoichi that he had saved from destruction.

"Totally. Worth. It."

"So, what am I supposed to do now?" Naruto asked, "I don't have a full team right now, so I can't do regular missions at the moment."

"That's true," Tsunade admitted, "particularly since Sakura has already started on her medic training. Fortunately, there is another option."

"Yo." Kakashi said as he suddenly appeared behind Naruto in a swirl of leaves. It said a lot about the relationship between Team 7 and its instructor that Naruto's only reaction was to give the former ANBU Captain a casual glance over his shoulder.

"Oh, hi sensei. I take it that you'll be training me until Jiraiya is ready?"

"That's the plan," Kakashi replied, "I've got some ideas that I wanted to share with you."

Naruto nodded and looked back to the Hokage. "Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

"No," Tsunade answered with a nod of her head, "you two are dismissed for now."

"So, apart from a lot of remedial chakra control, taijutsu and tactics training," Kakashi began, carefully avoiding the fact that as Naruto's primary sensei since leaving the Academy that he should have done this already, "I have a few jutsu that I think would suit you."

"Sounds cool," Naruto replied, "but I have an idea of my own I'd like to try out."

Kakashi raised his visible eyebrow. "Go on."

Naruto looked thoughtful, something that put Kakashi on edge. "Well, after fighting Itachi and Sasuke, I figure that at some point I'll have to fight against them again."

"That's fairly likely," Kakashi answered, glad that Naruto seemed to have acknowledged the reality of Sasuke's situation, "so what is your idea?"

"Well," Naruto began, "from what I've seen and read, the Uchiha clan's biggest advantage is the Sharingan, right?"

Kakashi suppressed the urge to rub his covered eye. "Well, it is a powerful tool with a wide variety of applications, so it stands to reason that the clan would have built their style around it."

Naruto nodded. "Like the Hyuga did with the Byakugan. What I want to find out is whether there is something that could block the Sharingan. That way Sasuke and Itachi would lose most of their key moves."

Kakashi was startled. Why has nobody ever thought of that before? Or maybe they did. "There's nothing I have ever heard of that could block the Sharingan. But from what I know, to block it you would have to create a chakra cloak over yourself that would be more powerful than the ninja with the Sharingan. That's beyond the abilities of most ninja, and even you would be hard pressed to do anything other than maintain the cloak."

"OK, so that's out," Naruto muttered to himself, before speaking up again, "so how about disrupting it?"

"Disrupt it?" Kakashi inquired.

"Yeah," Naruto said, "like how we use kai to try and disrupt genjutsu. Could we do something similar with the Sharingan?"

Kakashi felt like he was on the edge of some extremely dangerous territory. "There's nothing I've ever heard of that comes close. You'd have to send some sort of chakra pulse out that would interfere with your opponent's dojutsu."

Naruto grinned. "Let's ask Hinata to help. I've got a good feeling about this."

"We'll do that," Kakashi allowed, "but for now, remedial taijutsu training. I may not be at Gai's level, but I know enough to get you started..."

Neji Hyuga stood a short distance away from Naruto with his Byakugan active. He had been drafted into helping with this project by his cousin. The idea of shutting down somebody's dojutsu from a distance was terrifying for somebody who had built their entire fighting style around their eye abilities.

Still, if it is possible to affect our eyes like that it is best to know now, then we can prepare in case somebody else figures it out.

Naruto formed a bird sign and pulsed his chakra. Neji knew that there was more to the technique than the hand sign, and that Naruto was instinctively channeling some wind element into it. In the past he'd felt a strain on his eyes.

Neji blinked as his Byakugan abruptly switched itself off. It took him a moment to realise that the other observers were just as surprised as he was.

"Did that just...work?" Kakashi asked, sounding slightly awed. Neji looked around for a moment, before trying to activate his Byakugan. To his relief, it came back immediately.

"I think so," Hinata said, so surprised that he usual state of shyness around Naruto was briefly suppressed, "perhaps we should try again?"

Naruto grinned. "Alright, let's do it!"

Kakashi sighed as he wrote up his report on Naruto's new technique. It was simple, fast and did not require much chakra to use. All in all, the perfect jutsu for the average ninja...but the implications were terrifying.

In one stroke, Naruto has negated dojutsus. He can shut it down so easily he doesn't even need the damn hand sign for it anymore.

Kakashi looked across his room to a small mirror that was hanging on his wall. He still had a hard time adjusting to his new look.

Naruto turned off my Sharingan. Thank all the gods that Neji and Hinata were able to coach me into learning how to turn it back on, otherwise I think I might have been tempted to maim that brat.

Kakashi turned back to his report, reflecting on how much easier his life was now that he had full control over his Sharingan.

I wonder how the Hyuga will react to this.

"What." Hiashi Hyuga stated.

"Naruto Uzumaki has created a simple jutsu that can shut down any dojutsu within its range of effect." Neji repeated.

Hiashi started at his daughter and nephew blankly for a few moments, before he sighed and relaxed his posture slightly. "This is the project you two have been working on for the past month and a half?"

"Yes, father," Hinata replied nervously.

Hiashi gave the pair a measured look. "And it never occurred to you just how badly this would affect our clan?"

Neji met his uncle's eyes. "Yes, it did. And it also occurred to me that Naruto may not be the only person to come up with this idea. And that if he did succeed, we would be well placed to start work on any possible counter-measures."

Hiashi leaned back in his chair as he considered Neji's answer. "And your conclusions?"

Neji smirked as he placed a scroll on Hiashi's desk. "This seal should block Naruto's new technique from affecting the Byakugan. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the Sharingan."

Hiashi Hyuga remained stoic as he opened the scroll and examined the seal and the notes that accompanied it. His eyebrows shot up as the full details became apparent.

"This is the Caged Bird Seal," he stated.

"Modified," Neji replied, "with Kakashi's help I was able to come up with some modifications that would allow the seal to prevent foreign chakra from interfering with the Byakugan."

"I see," Hiashi commented, "and the fact that the control aspect of the seal is gone is pure coincidence."

"We couldn't get the modifications to work with those parts," Neji was openly smiling now, "there was too much of a risk that it would cause the destruction of all the chakra pathways near the eyes. Fortunately, the part that prevents our dojutsu from falling into enemy hands was unaffected."

"Father, remember that Naruto's technique is going to become public at some point in the future," Hinata pointed out, "if our clan is to have a future in the ninja world, everybody will need this new seal."

Hiashi considered the matter for a few minutes, before he nodded. "The elders will have a fit, but I cannot argue with your reasoning. I must congratulate you two, and Naruto, you have just destroyed the house system that has divided our clan for generations."

"And because the Caged Bird Seal was created specifically for the Byakugan, this won't work for the Sharingan," Neji commented in a wry tone, "we already checked that with Kakashi. So any Sharingan users out there will not be able to protect their eyes using this."

Hiashi allowed himself a small smirk. "My heart bleeds for them."

Tsunade could feel a headache forming already. Naruto and Kakashi were had just finished giving their report on Naruto's new jutsu and the shouting had started already.

"Enough!" the Hokage yelled, getting everyone's attention, "while this new technique does serve to handicap two of Konoha's most important clans, in the current situation it is only prudent that counter-measures to hostile dojutsu be pursued."

"Actually, the Hyuga will not be affected by this, Hokage," Hiashi Hyuga commented, "we have already developed a variation of the Caged Bird Seal that will protect us from this new jutsu. Sadly, the nature of the seal means that it is inapplicable for the Sharingan."

Tsunade regarded the current head of the Hyuga clan, who was wearing his Hitai-ate on his forehead for a change.

"I see," Tsunade said, "and considering that two out of three Sharingan users are missing nin, I think it is necessary that our forces be trained in this new jutsu."

"Will I get credit for it, granny?" Naruto asked.

"Don't call me that," Tsunade grated out, "but yes you will. Along with Kakashi, Hinata and Neji, of course."

"That's fine, I couldn't have done it without them," Naruto said easily, "so do you want me to show you how to do it?"

Tsunade relaxed slightly. "Sure, go ahead. Be sure to explain every step."

Naruto grinned and glanced at Kakashi, who groaned slightly before activating his Sharingan.

"It's different for me because of my wind element," Naruto began as he walked a short distance away from Kakashi, the pair facing each other in front of the Hokage and her advisers, "but we figured out a more generic version that anyone can use. Just three hand signals and channel your chakra as if you were trying to break a genjutsu, like this!"

Naruto formed his hand signs methodically, allowing the observers to follow easily. As he formed the last sign, he channelled his chakra.

Kakashi's wince as his Sharingan shut down was missed by all present as they were distracted by a small explosion from Danzo.

"Medics!" Tsunade shouted as she rushed to the side of the fallen nin, noting how his right arm had apparently detonated. "We will continue this later!"

Author's notes: I think this could start an arms race of anti-jutsu jutsus.

26. Dark distributed processing

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Hermione groaned at the scale of the arithmancy calculations she was working on. She had just finished putting down all of the initial conditions and was already onto the third foot of parchment. Completing the calculations would likely take another 600 feet or more, not to mention months of pains-taking work.

"There's got to be a better way of doing this," the Gryffindor Prefect muttered, "I can't be the first person who has faced overwhelming calculations like this."

Intent on completing her work on Harry's scar, Hermione rose from her table in the library and went in search of the arithmancy shelves. After 20 minutes she found a useful title.

"Arithmancy for Dummies: How to get the results without doing the work!" Hermione murmured to herself as she read the title, "well it looks more helpful than any of the other books."

Taking the book back to her table in the library, Hermione settled down to one of her favourite hobbies: reading.

Hermione was excited. The book she had found was full of helpful tips and tricks on how to simplify arithmancy equations and calculate them more quickly. The most promising idea, however, was a hypothetical discussion of something that sounded suspiciously like a magical computer.

Not that it would be built in the same way. The proposed system would exist in the form of elaborate charms tied to physical objects in the form of runes and magical signs. Once it was all set up, one could simply feed the equations into the system and let it do all of the calculations for you.

"Now to set about building the system," Hermione muttered as she put the book aside in her corner of the library, "the first charms are like this..."

As Hermione started to cast the charms onto a few scraps of parchment to test the spells, there was a reaction from a darkened alcove near her table. She turned to face the source of the disturbance with a frown.

"That shouldn't happen," the girl muttered, "unless somebody set up something like this before."

A quick investigation revealed something that delighted the 6th year Gryffindor. "Somebody built one of these earlier and left an access node here! This is great, it saves me the effort of building it myself. Now to access this system and see what it can do."

Some careful spell-casting resulted in a magical interface materializing in the out-of-the-way corner of the Hogwarts Library.

"Wonderful!" Hermione crowed as she examined the system, "hundreds of processing nodes all over the country, and the system is not being used. With this I can finish those calculations in a few minutes."

With a happy air, Hermione started to input her equations into the system. After almost an hour of hard work, she was ready.

"Now, enable all processing nodes...done. Now execute!"

With a final flick of Hermione's wand, the system started to work.

All across Britain, Death Eaters paused in their daily activities as their Dark Marks began to feel...odd. This was not the usual feel of their Lord calling them. This was just...odd.

Before any of them could ponder the matter further, the pain began.

Hermione watched as the interface indicated that the processing had started. A progress bar appeared, causing the muggleborn witch to groan slightly as memories of "Microsoft minutes" were dredged up.

Meanwhile, every marked Death Eater still living found themselves paralysed as their Dark Marks forcibly hijacked their nervous system. This was followed by the strange sensation of having their main cognitive functions redirected to...arithmantic equations?

Hermione had discovered how to change the interface to display the overall performance of the network. She could see the performance of every node from here.

"Huh, I can even tweak them remotely. I can see why the developer put that feature in, some of these nodes aren't performing very well. That one there is really working poorly, I'll adjust it. Heh, it reminds me of overclocking some of dad's computers..."

Sitting alone in his office, Lucius Malfoy sweated as he felt his brain start to overheat.

Hermione beamed at the sight of the progress bar steadily progressing. She had made some changes to the settings for several of the processing nodes and the whole system was working beautifully. Of course, it looked like some of her overclocked nodes were starting to push their limits, but nothing had broken the way some of her father's computers had when she had "improved" them.

Voldemort was puzzled as he found the Dark Mark on Pettigrew's arm to be entirely unresponsive to his attempts to summon Rookwood. Of course, Pettigrew himself was unresponsive, even when the Dark Lord had cast a Cruciatus curse at him.

"Whoops," Hermione said softly, her face starting to go red with embarrassment, "I think I just burned out a node or two. I hope whoever created this doesn't notice."

At the Ministry of Magic, there was a general panic as several senior bureaucrats had fallen to the floor after freezing up for several minutes.

"Almost there," Hermione murmured, eyeing the system status display worriedly, "this system clearly wasn't optimised given the failure rate of the nodes so far."

In his private sanctuary, Voldemort was hurriedly tearing through the notes he still had from when he had developed the Dark Mark to begin with. Just what was it that I adapted again? the Dark Lord wondered, I remember I had to set up that magical construct in the Library to get it working to start with...

"And done!" Hermione said happily as the system finished its work. A quick charm copied the results from the display onto parchment.

Hermione winced as the interfaced suddenly blurred, before blinking out. "And right on time. It looks like the rest of the nodes all burnt out and took the system with it. Whoever set this up will be furious if they find out, I think I should get away from here."

Voldemort wandered through his base of operations in shock. Every single Death Eater he could see was dead. With the apparent failure of the Dark Marks, he had no way of knowing what had happened to all the rest, but he had to assume that this attack had hit all of his marked followers.

What the hell happened? Did someone attack via the Dark Marks? Who would even do that? Dumbledore is too soft to even consider the idea, and nobody else is smart enough to have worked out how the Marks worked...

Safely ensconced in the Gryffindor Common Room, Hermione Granger reviewed the results of her arithmancy with satisfaction. With these results she should be able to get rid of whatever it was in Harry's scar that linked him to Voldemort. It was a shame about the arithmantic processing network that she had accidentally destroyed in the process, but the results were worth it.

Besides, it was an older network that nobody had accessed for years by the looks of it. Would anybody even notice its demise?

Author's notes: The basic premise is that Voldemort adapted his Dark Mark from something a previous Dark Lord had intended to use on prisoners, turning his prison population into a distributed computing system. As it turns out, Voldemort was less of a programmer than he was a rank amateur who tweaked things until it "sort of worked."

27. Founding Families

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise.

"Be careful, Hermione," Neville cautioned his fellow Gryffindor, "Nott may be a tool but his family has power."

Hermione fumed quietly, before she turned to face Neville fully. "What power?"

Ron looked up from his Quidditch magazine. "The Notts are one of the founding families. They get a permanent seat in the Wizengamot amongst other things."

Hermione frowned as she thought about it. "I don't know much about the history of the Wizengamot," she admitted, "so you're saying a bunch of important magical families founded it and retain power because of their lineage?"

"Yes," Neville replied, "all of the Founding Families get a seat in the Wizengamot and have special privileges when it comes to the Ministry."

"That's just wrong," Hermione muttered, "so how many founding families are there?"

"Not as many now as there were originally," Neville answered, "some of the families have gone extinct. Of the original Founding Eight Thousand, there's only six thousand, four hundred and twenty three left."

Hermione was, for the first time in anybody's memory, speechless.

Ron snickered at the expression on Hermione's face as he returned his attention to his magazine. Neville just looked at the fireplace with air of resignation.

"OK," Hermione managed to say after she had recovered from the shock, "just why are there so many founding families?"

"That's a long story," Neville said sheepishly.

"Bollocks," Ron interjected as he put his magazine down, "you're just embarrassed."

"Language!" Hermione scolded, before turning back to Neville. "But is he correct?"

Neville squirmed in his chair. "Well, yes. It wasn't the finest moment in the history of magical Britain."

Hermione sighed. "Just tell me."

"OK," Neville said as he massaged his temples, "so the Wizengamot was founded by the most powerful and rich families of wizarding Britain at the time. It was more of a peace treaty than anything else, putting an end to decades of near civil war."

"Go on." Hermione prompted.

"Everybody involved knew it was an important event," Neville went on, "so a scribe was appointed to record everything. The one thing everybody wanted recorded was a list of the families who were involved."

"That makes sense," Hermione commented, "but I take it something went wrong."

"Yes," Neville said, blushing slightly, "the scribe was a bit absent minded, and included everybody involved in a single list. Regardless of just why they were there."

"So..." Hermione said.

"So in addition to the 7 major families and 80 minor families who made up the original Wizengamot, the families of all the assistants, scribes and staff were also on the list. As were all of the support people, like the cooks and wagon drivers." Neville explained in a rush.

"Get to the best bit," Ron interjected again, grinning, "tell her about the Wizengamot's dirty secret."

"What secret?" Hermione asked, a bit bewildered. What could possibly be worse than what she'd heard already?

Neville covered his eyes and winced. "Family 4372 is the real embarrassment. The Millers."

"Why?" Hermione demanded.

Neville hesitated, allowing Ron to take over again. "The Millers were muggles, Hermione. But because they were there, they got on the list."

"What?! How?!" Hermione half-shouted.

Ron grinned broadly. "Apparently, William Miller got in because he was so drunk he didn't even notice the effects of the muggle repelling wards they had up. And he wasn't the only drunk person there that day, so nobody even noticed until they sent him an invitation to the first Wizengamot meeting a month later and they discovered that he couldn't get in."

Hermione was stunned. "So you're saying that the Founding Families of the Wizengamot..."

"...included a bunch of muggles? Absolutely." Ron replied, chuckling. Neville looked like he wanted to hide in the cushions of his chair.

"It took them over a century to get them out of the Wizengamot. It caused no end of trouble." Ron continued with glee.

Notes: An alternative take on the "founding families of the Wizengamot" plot device that turns up in many Harry Potter fanfics.

28. Doctor Who: Daleks have no mouths

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Doctor Who franchise.

As the TARDIS started to dematerialise, the Time Lord who had just rejected the title of "Doctor" considered his options. He had made the decision to reject his principles in order to join in the Time War, but now he had to decide upon the best course of action.

He knew that he could be very effective on the battlefield if he put his mind to it, but the war had plenty of frontline warriors already. Adding one more, even one as skilled as he, would not contribute enough to make a real difference.

What he needed was a plan that took a longer view. He had tried this already in previous incarnations, his gambit with the Hand of Omega being one of the more successful. A shame that it had not been the real knock-out blow that he had hoped for.

The Time Lords had tried similar plans in the past, attempting to use their ability to travel in time to remove the threat of the Daleks permanently. Those efforts had either been stymied by the Daleks' own time travelling abilities, or had been too ineffective to make any real difference. His own mission to Skaro had been a case in point.

Thinking back on what had happened during that visit, including his first encounter with Davros, caused the newly dubbed "Warrior" to reflect. Destroying the Daleks at that time was not possible; the disruption to the time stream would be catastrophic. But maybe there was something else he could try.

The Warrior strode to the controls of the TARDIS with a determined look on his face. Time for another visit to Skaro.

The Warrior watched on the TARDIS' screen as the Doctor and his two companions vanished from the face of Skaro as their Time Ring activated. He had timed this well, arriving precisely when he could act without any of the major players in the Time War noticing. The actions of the Doctor had muddied the time stream enough that the Warrior could slip in quietly.

A few adjustments to the TARDIS' controls saw it appear in a remote part of the Kaled Bunker. Slipping out quietly, the Warrior started to stealthily make his way to the production facilities that manufactured the Dalek machines.

With so few Daleks in the Bunker, the Warrior had no real trouble reaching his destination. He found the master control area, noting with some amusement that it was still set up to be operated by the humanoid Kaleds. None of the controls were suitable for the Daleks, though that would change soon.

Accessing a computer terminal with his sonic screwdriver, the Warrior set to work.

The Warrior watched as the Daleks besieged his homeworld. Years of fighting had led to this moment, when the Daleks attempted to finally destroy the one power that could stop them from achieving total mastery over the universe.

After finishing his work on Skaro, the Warrior had joined the fighting directly. His presence had been pivotal in many battles during the Time War, his actions saving the lives of billions of sentient beings. Today, however, he was far from the frontlines. He was watching from the relative safety of the TARDIS' control room, waiting for the right moment to intervene.

The Daleks were throwing everything they had at Gallifrey's defences. Even as he watched, more Dalek ships were arriving. It would not be long before the entire Dalek fleet was present.

There, the Warrior thought as another contingent of Dalek ships arrived, that's enough. Time for the final act.

The Warrior reached for a computer keyboard he had acquired from one of his many visits to Earth. It was currently patched into the TARDIS' controls, yet another modification on top of the thousands he had made over the years. Glancing at a screen, the Warrior typed in a few commands before firmly hitting the Enter key.

The TARDIS' communications system sent out a signal that was picked up by every Dalek in the area. It also travelled across space to those Daleks that were not present at Gallifrey, as many were busy performing the myriad of tasks required to keep the Dalek war machine running.

Inside each Dalek was a sophisticated computer that ran the machine the Dalek creature lived in. This computer system had multiple redundancies and fail-safes, as if it failed the machine would stop functioning outright.

The critical nature of this computer system had resulted in the Daleks spending a lot of time upgrading the hardware to make it as resilient as possible. It was this system that had been the target of the Warrior's early trip to Skaro.

At the time the Warrior had arrived, the technology of the Daleks had been decidedly primitive compared to later generations. While Davros was a genius almost beyond comparison, he had been working with the best technology that the Kaleds had at the time – a time that had seen the state of the art drastically reduced by over one thousand years of war.

For the Warrior and his knowledge of the best computers ever developed over billions of years, the computers in the first generation of Daleks had been trivially easy to reprogram. It had taken him practically no time to find the code he was after and make his additions. That little modification had sat there, buried in the most fundamental parts of the Dalek system, for almost as long as the Daleks had existed. Thanks to changes made to the original production facilities, the Warrior's addition had propagated across every Dalek ever built.

The signal from the TARDIS finally caused the Warrior's code to activate. In an instant, every Dalek machine in existence was affected as the software intrinsic to their operation suddenly turned against itself.

It was innocuous on the surface, disguised as a fault detection system. When activated with the right codes, however, the code caused the computer system to overload multiple pieces of hardware within the Dalek machines.

In short order, every Dalek found itself in a machine that had lost every system except for life support. While the Warrior had been ready to abandon his old ways to take up the fight directly, at that early stage he still had some qualms about engaging in wholesale genocide. As such he had written his code to leave the basic power supply and life support systems untouched.

Everything else, however, was fair game. Thus it was that the Daleks lost the ability to move their machines, fire their weapons, communicate, hear or see. The machines that had conveyed them on their genocidal path of conquest became inoperative lumps of metal in an instant.

Trapped inside, the Daleks would be kept alive by the life support system until their power supply finally expired. Due to the advanced nature of Dalek technology, this would take millions of years. Until then, every Dalek would be stuck inside their metal shells, alone with no sensory input at all, unable to do anything beyond flailing at controls that would never respond again.

As the Warrior turned away from a screen that showed a suddenly silent Dalek fleet, his thoughts turned to the possibility of another regeneration. On Gallifrey the Time Lords scrambled to find out just what had happened to stop the Daleks dead in their tracks.

And across the Universe, one by one, individual Daleks began to realise just what their situation truly was. As they did, they tried to scream. And failed.

Notes: a nasty way of dealing with a nasty species.

29. The Goblins' Strategy

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise.

The future of the goblin nation was in a precarious state. It always had been, even if most of their leaders over time had somehow managed to pretend otherwise.

It all came down to wizards. Ever since the first human successfully cast a spell, wizards had been at the centre of the magical world. It was rather like how a black hole dominates its local region of space. Up to and including just how destructive it could be.

The hidden shame of the goblin nation was that for all that they had a long history of going to war with the wizards, that history was one long unbroken series of defeats. There was a reason why the wizards called these wars goblin "rebellions" - ever since the first conflict, the goblins had most definitely been the subjugated race existing at the sufferance of their conquerors.

The problem was that the magic used by humans was the Weapon of Mass Destruction of the magical world. Something the goblins had learned the hard way when the wizard known to history as Merlin had decided to cut loose. Sure, goblins had access to rituals and the most advanced magical weapons known. But those were of scant use against an enemy that could summon the power to destroy an entire goblin fortress with the flick of a wand.

The last war between the goblins and wizards had ended with the disastrous Battle of Maulden Wood, which had seen the Chief Warlock of the day destroy three entire goblin regiments with a single spell. The goblin surrender came soon after that, but not before more than half of their total force had been obliterated by the combined efforts of a group of wizards that had started the day out-numbered by more than ten to one.

It was that war that had landed the goblins in their current situation. One of the more astute wizards had decided that the goblins needed an outlet for their more aggressive energies and greed, and had suggested letting them run a bank. Thus it was that Gringotts was created.

It had suited the goblins just fine. The cut and thrust of the world of commerce may not have involved nearly as much bloodshed as many goblins may have liked, but the thrill of sealing a deal or getting one over on the opposition had an allure of its own. The drive that had taken the goblins to war on so many occasions now pushed Gringotts into becoming the premier financial institution of the magical world.

It also formed the keystone of the goblins' survival plan. There had been a genuine concern that the wizards might finally lose patience and take the war to its ultimate conclusion by annihilating the goblins completely. Fortunately for all concerned, sanity had prevailed. The goblins had, however, been keenly aware of those voices amongst the wizards who had been calling for "a more permanent solution" to the "goblin problem."

By making themselves an integral part of the wizards' economy, the goblins had added a layer of protection in the form of the wizards' own best interests. Destroying Gringotts now would risk plunging the magical world into an economic disaster that could last generations.

It also put goblins into a position where they could be involved in the wizards' political process almost directly. Money was power, after all, and he who has the gold makes the rules. While no goblin would ever have a voice in the Wizengamot, enough wizards and witches had been manipulated into doing the bidding of the goblins that it made no difference. Goblins learned quickly how to play important wizards against each other, when to support a strong candidate and when to cut their losses. The political game offered a guarantee for the ongoing survival of the goblins.

Of course, there had been some unpleasant side-effects. The amount of energy invested into the bank was so great that the proud warrior traditions of the goblin people were now a distant memory. At the Battle of Maulden Wood, the goblin army had mustered 70 regiments in the field, and there had been more in reserve. By the time of Voldemort's first rise, the goblins would have struggled to raise 3 regiments across their entire nation.

By the time of Voldemort's second rise, even 1 regiment would have been a stretch.

Fighting political battles may have sharpened the mind but it did little for weapon skills. The average goblin spent their life dealing with parchment work and the tedium of daily banking business. Most had not touched a weapon since their youth. Even the guards were just that - perfectly adequate for keeping the bank safe, but not even remotely fit for service in an active war.

While nobody would ever dare say it out loud, Gringotts had made the goblins soft.

The goblin leaders were keenly aware of this. They had responded by upping the game when it came to political manoeuvres - avoid a war at all costs, lest the wizards realise that behind the shiny armoured breast-plates of the bank guards there was nothing to back them up.

The political game had become the primary focus out of necessity. Just as with any other endeavour, the goblins played it to win. That meant resorting to tactics and strategies that were, to quote one of the greatest goblin philosophers who had written on the subject, "shady as fuck."

Extortion, blackmail, poison quill campaigns, bribery - it was all fair game as far as the goblins were concerned. Just another set of tools in the workshop, to be used when and as necessary without any qualm or hesitation. The goal never changed - to maintain Gringotts' position in society and keep the wizards focused on arguing with each other in the Wizengamot. That way led to safety, security, peace and profit.

Thus, when Harry Potter and his friends broke into the bank to steal an item from the Lestrange vault, the senior leaders were actually quite pleased. This presented the goblins with a golden opportunity to get an up-and-coming power player on their side one way or the other. Simply hold his gold hostage, force the Potter Heir to come to Gringotts pointy hat in hand to negotiate, and build up a sizeable number of "favours" that the Boy-Who-Lived would owe the goblins. Harry was destined to be a big player in the Wizengamot, so having him in Gringotts' pocket was a real coup.

What the goblins did not expect was that Harry Potter would react to the political manoeuvres in roughly the same way Merlin would have. It was therefore a complete surprise when Harry and his friends stormed the bank with drawn wands, disabling the entire complement of guards at the London branch in less than 5 minutes and demanding that the head of Gringotts be presented to them immediately.

As the goblins scrambled to figure out just who was both important and disposable enough to be sent as a negotiator, one conclusion was reached very rapidly.

The goblin survival plan was going to need a few tweaks.

Author's notes: I've read many fics that featured goblins who were so awesome that they could curb stomp the wizards if they only chose to do so (but strangely never do). I've read plenty of others that have the goblins impose punitive measures on Harry and his friends after the break-in to retrieve Hufflepuff's Cup, and all Harry does is bend over and spread cheeks. This is my response to those types of stories – one in which the goblins' might is a paper tiger, and where Harry decides to go medieval on the load of back-stabbers.

30. Money For Jam

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise.

In his guest room at the Potter residence, Sirius Black flipped through the muggle newspaper with a distracted air as he contemplated his current situation. His family had finally kicked him out, telling him in no uncertain terms that he was not welcome at Grimmauld Place over the summer break.

I guess the next step will be a formal expulsion from the family, Sirius thought to himself, I'm surprised they haven't done it already.

The prospect of being disowned completely did not particularly worry him. He had been estranged from his entire family, with the sole exception of Andromeda, ever since he had been sorted into Gryffindor.

There was one minor concern for Sirius as he contemplated his oncoming sixth year at Hogwarts. He had been cut off from the Black Family vaults at Gringotts as well.

Fortunately for me, they couldn't do anything about the fact that my next two years had already been paid for, Sirius mused as he contemplated the situation, but that does leave me with a small problem. How the heck am I supposed to live up to my reputation if I have no money for Hogsmeade weekends?

Sirius had been looking forward to what he could do with the additional freedoms allowed for sixth and seventh year students, but with no source of funding available his plans would be curtailed.

I don't want to scrounge off James for this kind of thing, Sirius thought, it's bad enough that his family have taken me in now that dear old dad has finally caved in to the old harpy.

As he contemplated potential money-making schemes, an advertisement in the paper caught his attention.

What the heck is this about? 50 pounds per donation?

Sirius Black smirked to himself as he bottled the last of the potions he had been brewing in the Potters' shed. Fortunately the ingredients for these are cheap enough that I could afford them out of what I had left. Now for the tricky part...

Creating the potions had been easy. For all that Snivellous thought he was the bees knees when it came to Slughorn's classes, none of the Marauders had ever slacked off in the art of magical brewing.

But now for something we've never practiced before - illegal portkey creation. Hopefully the book I managed to swipe from Borgin & Burkes has everything I need.

After a few hours of work and some quick tests, Sirius was satisfied with the results. OK, I now have all the potions I need and can create all the portkeys necessary to get around without an apparation license. Time for the final step: profit!

That afternoon saw Sirius Black's first visit to a muggle sperm bank.

On the Hogwarts Express heading north, Sirius took a moment to reflect on the summer break. His money-making scheme had worked like a charm - thanks to the "performance enhancing" potions that he brewed, he had been able to visit several sperm banks per day. He had been so "productive" that he had ultimately started to branch out and find similar facilities in other countries. The result had been a whirlwind tour of the UK, Ireland, the USA, Canada, France (who knew that all those French lessons would pay off?), Australia and New Zealand.

Finding all those places wasn't that hard, fortunately, most of them were happy to tell me about other banks in other cities when I mentioned that I was a tourist. I reckon there isn't a bank I haven't visited at least once in all seven countries!

He had discovered that by using glamour charms and conjuring fake muggle ID cards, he had even been able to give multiple donations to the same bank on the same day. As a result, he was now flush with funds. It had been lucrative enough that he had started his own account at Gringotts.

Sirius grinned as he flagged down the snack cart. The coming year was going to be great!

When the school year ended, Sirius immediately resumed his part-time job. Brewing additional potions under Slughorn's nose had been a piece of cake, and he had portkey creation down to a science. He would be able to make even more money this summer, as he already knew where all of the banks were and would not have to waste time finding venues.

When he made his first visit for the summer, he was delighted to discover that the staff were more than happy to have him back. Apparently, his donations were particularly useful and they were eager to get more. Sirius was more than happy to oblige, so long as they paid him.

The summer between his sixth and seventh years turned out to be extremely profitable for the estranged Black Heir. It was so lucrative, in fact, that Sirius decided to continue his little enterprise after he had graduated from Hogwarts - there was no job in magical Britain that paid nearly as well as the career he had made for himself.

It all came to an end on the 31st of October, 1981. Sirius found himself in Azkaban not long after James and Lily were killed, blocking any attempt to continue his little money-making scheme.

Unbeknownst to Sirius, the implications of his visits only started to become apparent after he was incarcerated. It started at Hogwarts when Minerva McGonagall made one of her regular checks of the list of names recorded by the Quill of Acceptance.

"Albus, there's something unusual in the list of magical births," the Deputy Headmistress said as she took tea with the aged Headmaster.

"Oh? What is it now?" Dumbledore asked.

"The number of muggleborn has increased markedly over the last few years," Minerva replied as she consulted some notes she had with her, "I have never seen this many added to the list in all my time at Hogwarts."

"Curious," Albus mused as he contemplated a piece of Kendall Mint Cake that he had set aside for himself, "I had expected more children on the list after the defeat of Voldemort, but I can't fathom why there would be more muggleborn."

At the magical branch of the College of Arms, the staff were more worried than curious.

"How the hell did Sirius Black manage to create so many bastards?" A senior Herald demanded as he looked at the report his underlings had created.

"We have no idea," a junior Herald replied, "it is completely without precedent. We have over 500 illegitimate offspring for Sirius Black on our lists already. What's more, they're all half-bloods."

The senior Herald groaned as he contemplated the situation. "That'll set a cat amongst the pigeons. Has Black registered a will anywhere?"

"Not with us," another Herald replied, "I asked Gringotts and they said they had nothing on file either."

"After demanding a fee, no doubt," the senior Herald muttered, "please tell me there's no more bad news."

"Actually..." one of the other Heralds said quietly, holding up a piece of parchment.

The senior Herald groaned again. "What now?"

"Well," the other Herald began, "the 500 potential heirs we have for Sirius Black are just those we know of in the United Kingdom. This report suggest there may be more overseas."

There was a round of incredulous blinking as the assembled Heralds tried to wrap their heads around this new information. "How many more?" somebody asked.

"Um, maybe as many as 800? And counting?"

August, 1991

Albus Dumbledore sighed as his Deputy entered his office. It was time for a conversation that was turning into an annual event.

"How many muggleborn this time?" the Headmaster asked, pre-empting Minerva.

"307," McGonagall replied, "we will have to expand the dormitories again."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly as he made a note to himself to get expert warders in prior to an over-sized Hogwarts Express arriving on the 1st of September.

Minerva looked at the large list of names that she had brought in for the Headmaster's attention. "I still don't understand just why we've had so many muggleborn showing up since the late 70s. It defies comprehension."

"I may have some insight into that," Albus offered as he put down his quill, "I received a letter from the Garter Warlock of Arms that gives some answers, though it raises more questions."

"Oh?" the Deputy Headmistress prompted.

"It seems that the College of Arms has been panicking over this for years," Dumbledore replied as he looked at the letter that had arrived just that morning, "it turns out that Sirius Black has been fathering bastards pretty much non-stop since he was in his 6th year at Hogwarts."

Minerva looked pole-axed. "What? How?"

"I have no idea," Albus confessed, "what is more perplexing is that his incarceration in Azkaban has not stopped him from siring more children."

"Are you saying that all of these muggleborn children are actually half-bloods by Sirius Black?" McGonagall half-shouted.

"Not all of them," Albus said, "but many if not most."

In a laboratory in the dungeons of Hogwarts, Severus Snape felt a chill run down his spine.

At the College of Arms, the magical section was close to having a collective nervous breakdown as they contemplated the terrifying prospect of trying to figure out the Black Family succession should Sirius Black die without formally naming an heir.

"I swear, that man must have been trying to make our lives a nightmare! There's no other explanation!" one Herald snarled as yet another notification of a bastard of the Black line arrived.

"I think you're right," his colleague said as he considered the three similar notifications that had arrived the previous day, "damn it, Black, you utter wanker!"

Author's notes: British sperm banks do not currently offer money for donations, but for the purposes of this story they did in the Potterverse in the 1970s and early 80s.

Inspired by...something, maybe the cold meds I've been on. Douglas Adams put something like this in "Mostly Harmless" so I figure I'll just blame him.

Updated after I realised that I probably underestimated just how many children Sirius could have sired per year.

31. Jammy Bastards

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Foreword: By popular demand...well, OK, a few people asked...a sequel to "Money For Jam."

Filius Flitwick sighed gently as he prepared a classroom. It was approaching the time for what was becoming a traditional event. The first order of business was checking that the expansion charms were still working properly.

Dealing with Sirius Black's affairs was tiring, but the staff at Hogwarts had managed to come up with a workable solution. Pomona Sprout had joined Minerva McGonagall in the role of introducing muggle families to the magical world. There were so many families with "muggleborn" wizards and witches that the job was simply too big for one person.

Filius, on the other hand, got the unenviable task of running the "welcome to Hogwarts, here is something you didn't know about your parentage, and this is why you can't date anyone on this list" sessions. Frankly, he would much rather assist Minerva in talking to the families of the "muggleborn" but his ancestry got in the way.

Severus Snape's job was to be kept ignorant of the truth behind the large influx of "muggleborn" students over the past decade. Nobody wanted to know just how the Potions Professor would react to the knowledge that well over half of all the students at Hogwarts were the illegitimate children of Sirius Black.

Albus Dumbledore watched passively as Severus Snape blinked a few times as he tried to get his bearings. If he was being honest with himself, the Headmaster was getting worried about the future state of Severus' mental health if this kept on happening.

Once again, Hogwarts' Potions Professor had discovered the dirty secret behind the increase in the student population. Naturally, the Head of House Slytherin had stormed into Dumbledore's office demanding an explanation. Not to mention insisting that "something be done about this."

As usual, Dumbledore had listened patiently to Severus' rant before obliviating the unfortunate man of all knowledge he had regarding the offspring of Sirius Black. He was now waiting for his Potions Professor to recover from the process before Albus could send him on his way.

In truth, the Headmaster would like nothing better than to be find out just what was going on with the Black Family succession. Unfortunately, the most obvious course of action was currently unavailable. After discovering that Sirius Black was somehow fathering bastards while still resident in Azkaban, Dumbledore had tried to arrange to visit the prisoner in order to question him. He had been blocked in this by numerous bureaucrats at the Ministry of Magic who had come up with more red tape than the Chief Warlock had believed possible.

Professor Snape finally wandered off with some faked memories of a discussion regarding teaching standards - Albus lived in hope that he might eventually be able to influence the younger man to alter his classroom style. Now alone in his office, Dumbledore turned back to the letter he had been writing before he had been interrupted.

It was time to get the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement involved. Amelia Bones was, as far as he knew, ignorant of what had been going on with Sirius Black's legacy. If nothing else, I can share the headache.

Hermione Granger was finding the trip on the Hogwarts Express to be quite exciting, starting right at the moment that she and her parents had entered Platform 9 3/4.

"That train is HUGE!" Patrick Granger exclaimed as he saw the locomotives and carriages assembled at the platform.

"I've never seen anything that big before," Hermione's mother said as they picked their way through the large crowd, "just how many students go to this school?"

"A bit over 1800 this year," a flustered person wearing a conductor's uniform replied distractedly as he hurried past, "excuse me, I'm in a hurry!"

Hermione and her parents exchanged a wide-eyed look before the crush of people forced them to move. Not wanting to endure the crowd any longer than necessary, Hermione hugged her parents goodbye before boarding the train. A chubby boy about her own age boarded right behind her, pulling his trunk with one hand while the other held a small cage that appeared to contain a toad.

"I've never seen a crowd like this before," the boy said, almost to himself.

"I haven't seen one like this since we went to the Boxing Day sales in London," Hermione replied as she glanced down the corridor of the carriage.

"Muggleborn?" the boy asked as the two started to walk down the corridor. Every compartment they passed was full.

"Yes. Are you?" Hermione inquired.

"No, I'm what they call a Pureblood. We're pretty rare at Hogwarts these days." Pausing to put his trunk down, the boy held out his hand. "Neville Longbottom."

"Hermione Granger," the bushy-haired girl replied, taking the offered hand and shaking it, "I think there's a spare compartment over there."

The compartment turned out to have two people in it, but as it was the first one that was not already full Hermione decided to take a chance. "Excuse me, can we sit in here? Everywhere else is full."

A red-haired boy looked up with a smirk. "That's just what I said. You might as well join us, from what my brothers have said the Express is usually packed tight."

The other boy, who had messy black hair and glasses, waved his hand in acceptance. Hermione pulled her trunk into the compartment, followed closely by Neville. After the two had placed their trunks in the overhead racks, Hermione sat down next to the red-head while Neville sat opposite her next to the glasses-wearing boy.

"Thanks, I was worried about finding a seat," Hermione said, "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."

"Neville Longbottom," her recent companion offered.

"Ron Weasley," the redhead said, "and this is-"

"Harry Potter," the last occupant of the compartment finished.

Hermione blinked in surprise. She had read about Harry Potter, the "Boy-Who-Lived," in some of her books but to think she would actually meet him!

The door to the compartment opened again before anyone could say anything else. A boy stuck his head in, looking slightly frantic.

"Got room for four more? This train is really packed!"

"Sure," the redhead, Ron, replied, "we've got space."

The new additions were two boys and two girls, all of them about Hermione's age if her estimation was correct. They all looked somewhat similar, leading her to wonder if they were related.

"Thanks. I'm Brian Appleby," the firstboy introduced himself.

"Janice Longmore," one of the girls added.

"Richard Harrison."

"Martha Harding."

The rest of the introductions went quickly, Hermione noticing that none of the newcomers seemed to know about Harry. She decided to sate her curiosity.

"I have to ask - are you all related in any way? You look similar enough to be cousins." Hermione asked bluntly.

The newcomers looked at each other with no hint of recognition. "Not that I'm aware of," Brian said, "I only met Janice when I was looking for a compartment."

Janice nodded in agreement. "I've never heard of any family that have the name Appleby," she commented.

"Huh, you do look alike," Ron observed, "I take it you lot are muggleborn?"

"I am," Richard replied.

"Likewise," Martha added, Brian and Janice nodding in agreement, "does it show?"

"Sort of," Ron said with a grin directed at Harry.

James (not Jim, never Jim) Noakes had been driving the Hogwarts Express for over 30 years. For the most part it had been steady work with no real excitement - other than the ever-changing weather, the route was the same and it was not like he met the passengers.

It had all started to change in 1988. That was the year when the first year class had been a lot bigger than usual - the normal load was 600 students across all seven years. In 1988 that number went up to just over 900. It had been getting steadily worse ever since.

The Headmaster had given them a warning that things were only going to get worse, so the team had started planning for ever-larger trains. If James had his way they would split the train up into 5 or 6 smaller trains, but the hide-bound traditionalists were adamant that all of the students had to travel up in the same train and arrive at the same time.

The result was the monstrosity he was currently directing. And wasn't that a change - he was no longer driving the train, but had been relegated to the director of operations. The increasing size of the Express had forced the retirement of their carefully acquired and lovingly maintained GWR 4900 class locomotive. The old girl was just not powerful enough to keep up. Fortunately the American wizards still made their own steam locomotives and had been able to supply a number of more powerful locomotives at fairly short notice.

Now the Hogwarts Express had 32 carriages, up from the 10 they used to run. They had three brand new Union Pacific "Big Boy" class locomotives to move it all, two at the front and one bringing up the rear. The whole damn thing was over a third of a mile long and James did not want to even think about how much the whole lot weighed. The sheer length had forced the Ministry to send expert warders to expand the size of Platform 9 3/4 several times, with similar work taking place at Hogsmeade.

As the Hogwarts Express worked its way north, James looked back over his shoulder and could just make out the rear locomotive in the distance. Learning to operate a multi-locomotive train had been an experience in itself.

Looking ahead again, James sighed mournfully. He was not looking forward to when they had to unload this lot at Hogsmeade. To hell with what the brass says, next year we're running this as at least 6 separate trains!

Dumbledore surprised Amelia Bones when he drank his tea down in a single long gulp. He looked at her sheepishly as he lowered his cup.

"My apologies for the lack of decorum, but the start of the school year is a trying experience these days."

Amelia nodded. She had heard about the increasing size of the student population. Shopping for school supplies with her niece Susan had been a trying experience, Minerva McGonagall shepherding a large group of muggleborn and their parents around Diagon Alley with a look of quiet desperation on her face.

"So, I received your letter regarding Sirius Black. I have good news and bad news." Amelia stated, eager to get to the heart of the matter and avoid wasting time.

"That was quick," Dumbledore said with some surprise, "I only sent it yesterday."

"Yes, well the College of Arms sent me a similar letter a few months ago," Amelia explained, "so we'd already started to look into it."

Dumbledore nodded. "That makes sense. I know the Heralds have been worried about this. So, any luck on getting permission to organise an interview with Sirius?"

"Unfortunately, no," Amelia replied, rubbing her eyes tiredly, "the usual rules are that only immediate family are allowed to visit. Any formal questioning has to be done under official procedures."

"I fail to see the problem," Dumbledore said, "surely we just need to fill out the relevant forms and we can be on our way."

"You'd think that would be the case," Amelia responded, "unfortunately the paperwork turned into a nightmare. One of my clerks was far too good at her job and discovered that Sirius Black never had a trial."

Dumbledore blinked in surprise. "What, the records were lost?"

"No, the records never existed," Amelia explained, "it turns out that Crouch just decided to send Black straight to Azkaban without bothering with a trial first. That means that Sirius Black has been incarcerated illegally, and we can't go in and question him without dealing with that first."

Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose. "So, now we have to run a trial that's at least 10 years overdue. Just what I needed to hear in the middle of trying to introduce over 300 muggleborn students to life at Hogwarts. Anything else to make this week even worse?"

"Actually, yes," Amelia said, smirking slightly, "we've already started on the background investigation for the upcoming trial. We questioned Crouch and he was far too evasive to my liking, so I sent a team to surprise him at home."

"And?" Dumbledore asked, sounding weary.

"And they found Barty Crouch Junior locked in the basement," Amelia continued, wincing slightly when she saw Dumbledore's reaction, "it turns out Crouch smuggled his son out using polyjuice. The body we buried was Crouch's wife. He's been keeping his son in the basement under the Imperius ever since."

"Oh that's just perfect," Dumbledore half-snarled, "all we need now is definitive proof that the Minister is taking bribes and the week will be complete!"

"Bite your tongue," Amelia said quickly as she sorted through the piles of parchment on her desk, "we don't want to tempt fate right now."

After Professor Flitwick finished his presentation to the 300 or so students that had been assembled, a stunned silence settled in.

"Well, that's all from me," Flitwick said, packing up his notes and heading for the door, "but if you wait for a moment there will be somebody else to see you in a moment."

After the door closed behind the Charms Professor, one of the girls near the front of the class spoke up without turning around. "So, did everybody already know that they were a test tube baby?"

There was a muted chorus of agreement, with some comments such as "mum told me as soon as she thought I'd understand" and "I only found out when Professor McGonagall came to talk to us."

"It's a hell of a thing to learn, right?" Everybody in the room turned at that, to see a fourth year student in Hufflepuff colours standing at the door. "Hi, my name is Jacob Greene. I'm here to invite you to our club."

"What, there's a club for all of us?" a girl in Ravenclaw colours asked.

"Yep. We don't have an official name, but we're all in the same boat. It comes as a shock to everyone, so we try to support each other."

A first year Slytherin boy looked relieved. "That's nice to hear. I was getting a bit worried."

"No official name," another boy mused, "any unofficial names?"

"Well," the fourth year said hesitantly, "some people have called us the Black Bastard Club."

"Crass but accurate," a Gryffindor boy commented, "anything we need to know right now?"

"Just one thing. The first rule of the club is that nobody tells Snape about any of this. That comes straight from the Headmaster, so don't even think about breaking it."

Albus Dumbledore pinned Sirius Black with a glare that reminded the Marauder of how the Headmaster had reacted after a certain greasy git had nearly ended up inside Remus.

"I know that I owe you several apologies for how badly the Ministry, and I, failed you," the Supreme Mugwump began, "but before I get to that you owe me an explanation."

"For what?" Sirius asked diffidently. His respect for Dumbledore, and authority figures in general, had been badly undermined by his illegal imprisonment.

Dumbledore responded by throwing a thick file on the table in front of Sirius. "Read it."

Sirius suppressed his desire to tell Dumbledore exactly where he could shove the file, picking it up and starting to read. The first page had a précis of the overall report. By the time he reached the end of the summary, Sirius looked pole-axed.

"What the hell..." he muttered.

"That's what we want to know," Dumbledore replied icily, "have you any idea just how much trouble this has caused?"

"But I don't know how..." Sirius trailed off as his mind went into overtime. His eyes widened dramatically as a thought struck him.

"I think I know what happened. But before I explain anything, I want immunity from some minor legal breaches I may or may not have committed."

Dumbledore sighed, before he turned to the door. "Please ask Madam Bones to join us," he called out, "I think I'll need her expertise."

"Right, I think we've got this all sorted out," Albus Dumbledore said as he sat down with Amelia Bones and Minerva McGonagall, "Sirius Black has explained just how he ended up siring so many offspring."

The two women nodded, both of them looking equally frustrated and admiring. "I had no idea the muggles could do all of this," Minerva commented, "let alone that they would offer money for...donations."

"Let's leave it at that, shall we?" Amelia said hurriedly, "the annoying part is that there's nothing on the books that covers this. The only laws Sirius broke for his scheme were when he stole from Borgin & Burkes - and isn't that a joke in itself - illegal entry into other countries plus the illegal creation of portkeys. None of which is something I'm willing to pursue after he spent a decade in Azkaban without a trial."

"Quite," Dumbledore replied, "the problem now is that we have no way of finding and removing all of Sirius'...donations."

"Which means we can look forward to several more years of being inundated with Sirius' bastards," Minerva said in a resigned tone, "we'll just have to keep managing as we have. Though we're definitely going to need more staff, Albus."

"I know and I've managed to persuade the Board of that," Dumbledore said, "I've sent word to the other countries where Sirius visited and they are already starting to take measures to avoid any...unfortunate circumstances."

"You mean two half-siblings ending up married," Amelia muttered, "I feel sorry for these children. Spending seven years in a school mostly filled with your own family..."

Dumbledore hurriedly interrupted the train of thought. "Yes, well, Sirius has agreed to write a will so the College of Arms is satisfied. He's named Harry Potter as his heir for now."

"Do any of Sirius' children have a claim on the Black estate?" Minerva asked.

Dumbledore paused and thought it over. "I have no idea. I suspect that it will take a team of lawyers more time and money to sort out than any of us would care to spare."

"All this so Black could spend up big on Hogsmeade weekends," Amelia said as she looked at the ceiling, "at least none of his friends ever found out. Can you imagine what it would have been like if James Potter had decided to try the same thing?"

An involuntary shudder ran around the room. "I am grateful on Harry's part that Sirius never saw fit to share the secret of his money-making scheme with his friends," Minerva said as she pulled out a hip flask to top up her tea.

Severus Snape glared at the class of first year Slytherins. Ever since the number of muggleborn students had started to increase out of all proportion, running separate classes for each House had become mandatory. The result was that he had to spend more time teaching and had less time for his own projects.

Still, there was something about the students that had him on edge. Too many of them looked familiar in a way he could not quite pin down...

Author's notes: I have no idea just how many IVF babies are produced each year in the UK, so I took some liberties with population estimates for this fic.

Many thanks to Doghead Thirteen for the help in figuring out just how colossal a train for over 1800 students would be. I decided to skip over the logistics of unloading everybody at Hogsmeade, getting over 300 first years onto boats for the trip across the lake, and just how many carriages would be needed to get the other students up to the castle...