The Queen of England was an old lady.

Taking tea with the Queen herself involved complicated procedures that had to be followed to the letter, down to how to sit, when to take a sip, when not to take a sip and even how many fingers to keep on the cup and where to put the plate down.

Thankfully, Harry did not belong to the world of court, and somehow he had the feeling the Queen herself enjoyed not having to follow proper etiquette with someone far, far younger than her.

"So, Duke Wyllt," she began crisply, her unyielding gaze reminding him that she wasn't the Queen just because she held the title, but also because she was, truly, a queen by her very soul. "Explain to us the deaths."

"There is a law," he replied calmly, "Which states that should any pureblooded scion be harmed, then he may fight back to the death the attacker. I wished to make it clear that I would not shy away from combat, and to enforce my power over the masses."

"Interesting speech, flawed maybe, but interesting nonetheless," the Queen replied calmly. "Do you believe that power is the answer to everything, Duke Wyllt?"

"I…I think it is," he answered. "To what else do people bow to?"

"They bow to respect, Duke Wyllt," the Queen said. "We do not have your magic, or your power…God forgiving we do not even have your youth, and yet you came to us. Why do you think that was? We cannot snap our fingers and burn the enemies of the Crown, albeit that is an interesting daydream we sometime partake in," the old lady smiled kindly as she spoke. "There is a time for war, most certainly, but there is also a time for peace. What you did was, by the Laws of England, unacceptable. Had we not decided to grant upon you a special status due to the situation, would you have gone through the same actions, uncaring of the consequences?"

Harry exhaled slowly as he looked at his tea cup. The mere thought hadn't even crossed his mind. He had just acted in order to obtain respect…but there had been no impulse from a ghost, or mind control from a wand. It had been him doing that. He had been the one to move his wand, to swish and send the spells that had killed those students.

It hadn't been Salazar or the ghost of Slytherin.

He, Harry Wyllt, had killed those students for no other reason than to simply prove his point to the rest of them. He had acted like some sort of petty tyrant, hadn't he? He had acted truly like King, like that small shard of Voldemort's soul that had been stuck inside him for a long time and had been removed even before.

He hadn't acted like Harry.

Then again, he couldn't at like a child even if he wanted to.

"Your silence answers to us far more than any words," the Queen replied calmly. "We would suggest you understand the saying that power corrupts, and thus needs to be checked."


"The Queen has the parliament, and the teachings of the private instructors, or the memory of the kind words of her parents," she admitted quietly. "You will have to find what your conscience, Duke Wyllt, is and what truly can hold you back."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "It will be difficult, extremely difficult…your Highness, I do not think there is—" he stopped in mid-sentence. "No, there is someone." He clasped his hands together. "I doubt they will want anything more to do with me however," he sighed. "But one can hope, can they not?"

"Most certainly they can, Duke Wyllt," the Queen quipped settling down the tea cup. "However we must now discuss the nature of your punishment. Simply giving you a slap on the wrist would send the wrong idea, and since you do claim you need to be checked until you have fully matured into an individual worthy of command we think the best solution to both parties would be settling Hogwarts as a place beneath the laws of the Crown, rather than yours."

"That would be for the best," he acquiesced. "At the very least it would be something more to hold me back."

"Nobody likes to shed blood," the Queen nodded gravely. "And the fact that you don't makes you, in our eyes, at least worthy of being considered as the right choice. Do not betray our expectations of you, Duke Wyllt."

"I will not, your majesty."

They made small talk afterwards, about children and politics, about taxes and revenues. They spoke of a little bit of everything, as if it didn't quite matter that one was the Queen of England and the other was just a child who had ended up as the Duke of Wyllt and the ruler of a good chunk of magical Britain.

The moment he bid the Queen farewell, the old lady took those precious minutes of being alone to do something extremely unladylike for her status.

She sighed, once.

It actually pained her heart to see what was supposed to be a laughing and playful child forced into a position like that. She wondered if she would have acted with that hotheadedness in her youth, if she had come to the throne at that age. Gently, she shook her head. She had a tight schedule, and already the Prime Minister was going to wonder why he was being brought in five minutes late.

What could she say? She was the Queen, and if she couldn't stretch her time with someone she genuinely liked to talk with, then what was the use in keeping the title and the royal 'we'?

Still she had to wonder…who was going to keep in check the Duke?

There were three rasps at the door of the Burrow. Lillian heard from her room, in which she had huddled herself after leaving Hogwarts, the voice of Mrs. Weasley yelling out loud to George to get the door. She smiled bitterly as she listened to the banter between the family members.

House Black wasn't safe from Harry, since it actually belonged to him no matter what was said about 'gifting it' to Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix from Sirius, who was now in coma at St. Mungo. Unless he awoke, the Fidelius on the place simply wouldn't do.

The Burrow belonged to the Weasley since generations before, and they were pretty sure no Wyllt could ever claim the land there.

Still, she knew the reason she was there was also as some sort of begging for forgiveness from the Weasley family for the actions of their youngest son. Somehow, she also suspected she was being a replacement for Ginny too, but then again with her parents at Hogwarts' infirmary and Lupin… ensnared by Wyllt's offer of a steady job and his apparent leaving for the summer to go somewhere else, there just wasn't another way.

She had gone with the Weasley family. The haunted look of Arthur every time he looked at her made Lillian feel a bit guilty, especially when the rest of the family felt the same way for her, as if the faults of Ron were theirs to begin with.

A sharp scream caught her attention, and since it came from Mrs. Weasley, Lillian was up and rushing down the stairs in a hurry, her wand steadily held in her right hand. She was wearing a dark purple muffler with the letters L.P. emblazoned near her right breast, and the long pair of trousers she wore was of a dark brown color. Her hazel eyes widened in disbelief as she looked at just who was at the door.

"Is Lillian here?" the voice…she remembered that voice. How could she forget it? It wasn't the voice however that caught her interest, but the tone. It was the soft tone that Harry had used the few times they had talked, the one he had held far before he had become what he was now. It was that sort of tone that startled her, that glazed her eyes as she recalled it, and that actually made her forget she had practically announced her presence in the room by rushing down with her wand in hand.

"What are you doing here!?" Mrs. Weasley had her wand in hand, "I swear to Merlin if you dare harm any of my children I will not show you any mercy, you murderer! George! Get Fred!"

"I'm Fred," 'Fred' remarked, "I'll get George," he added then as the murderous gaze of his mother made him reconsider.

"Harry?" Lillian said softly as she took a step forward towards him.

"Did you know," Harry said with a sort of chuckle deep beneath his words. "That Hogwarts' letters are sent automatically with the stuff to buy for the next year, to the address the student resides in currently?" he shook his head slowly, as from one of his robe's sleeves he extracted a white letter.

"She will not be returning to Hogwarts this year! Nobody will!" Molly screeched at him, moving her wand around as sparks began to erupt out of the tip. "You just wait until the ministry hears of this! You're nothing more than a Dark Lord! You murdered students! Not even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named swooped so low!"

"I seem to have forgotten the part where Lillian is considered your daughter, rather than my sister," the tone in Harry's voice was now changing. The words of the Weasley matriarch were probably unnerving him, and if Lillian didn't intervene quickly, he might just as well attack —that is, if Mrs. Weasley didn't attack first.

"I will not let Lily's daughter end up in your hands! Shame on you, Wyllt! Your parents would be so anguished over what you did, if only they were awake…then again you're probably keeping them in a coma, aren't you? Using only Merlin knows what sort of dark rituals and the likes," as the woman ranted on, Harry's eyes narrowed to fissures.

"Mrs. Weasley!" Lillian exclaimed suddenly, "Please, it's all right!" she stepped further forward, "Harry was just delivering my letter, right? And…And I want to go back to Hogwarts, please," she looked with wide eyes at the Weasley matriarch, who was speechless. "I want to finish my education, and…and there will be a lot of people at Hogwarts too! My brother won't do anything bad again, I swear it! He just acted in self-defense! Really, I—"

"Lillian," Molly's voice was stern, "He killed Ron."

Harry raised both eyebrows at that.

"Excuse me, I did what?"

"Don't try and fake ignorance! We both know you killed him, or else why would you stall in giving him back to his family!?" Molly's scream finally was met with the arrival of both Fred and George, who had their wands in hand and seemed ready to attack at a moment's notice.

"I ordered him freed and sent back through portkey," Harry replied calmly. "He was supposed to be delivered to the Atrium of the ministry, to face judgment for his actions against my sister. I thought it a token of good will…you know nothing of the sort?"

There was silence in the room. The clock chimed on the wall of the room, the arm with the words 'Ron Weasley' had been spinning wildly since the beginning, as if whether he was couldn't be determined. "I have no reason to lie about this," he remarked calmly. "You can refuse to believe me, but I certainly do not enjoy mindlessly torturing people or wasting resources on prisoners." He shook his head. "I came to speak with my sister in private however, I hope you will not try and eavesdrop in?" his gaze lingered for a moment over Fred and George, before a small smirk settled on his face.

"Do try and use those fake ears of yours, you will not like the results…I can assure you."

The twins recoiled blabbering something about 'having to go elsewhere', while Molly Weasley seemed pained as she watched the arm of the clock still spinning wildly concerning her youngest son. She swallowed nervously, before looking at Lillian. "Are you sure, Lillian dear?"

"Yes Mrs. Weasley," she nodded. "I have to do this." Her hazel eyes locked with the emerald ones of Harry. "I wouldn't forgive myself otherwise if I didn't at least try."

Harry's lips twitched upwards. "Try what?" he asked as he began to walk outside the Burrow, probably to talk while walking.

"Try and see if there's anything of the Harry I know left in you," she bit her lips as she followed him.

"The Harry you know about?" he mock-replied. "You know nothing of me," he shook his head. "We met how many times in first year? Too few to remember…and how many times did we talk in the second year? And what of this wonderful third year? Do you think you know the real me? You're still a child, whereas I was forced to grow up." He snorted at the look of bewilderment that crossed Lillian's face.

"I was with you at Beauxbatons!" she exclaimed hotly. "You had your phoenix kidnap me!" she added then.

"Sophie did what she believed was right, and you followed me," he replied. "To think I was twelve when I infiltrated Azkaban and battled away Salazar," he chuckled mirthlessly. "And even then," he sighed, "We really don't know each other. You're merely a footnote in my life, you know?"

"What about Christmas?" she crossed her arms over her chest, as she looked at him from his side. "Didn't you know me by then?"

"What makes you think I actually believed in your so called 'family love'?" he snorted back. "I find it distasteful that you're so quick to trust."

"I find it sad that you aren't trusting at all," Lillian muttered back downcast.

"Oh, but I do trust," he replied. "I trust Hermione."

"She's gone mad," Lillian said. "You could tell her to eat needles and she'd do it gladly for you."

"Now that's no longer true," he replied. "She's seeing a mind healer."

"Thank Merlin," Lillian sighed before smiling. "See? You're not bad like Voldemort: you care."

"Maybe I was just tired of having her follow me around like a lost puppy."

"Then what of Ron? You said you let him go."

"And what if I lied?"

"You wouldn't," she shook her head. "You don't lie much."

"Oh? And how would you know?"

They had neared the edges of the Burrow, beyond which extended a river that seemed to cross with another property —making it a natural boundary.

"You don't like lies, so you don't lie," Lillian replied with a knowing smirk. "And…I just know you wouldn't lie about this."

"And why is that, then?" he retorted, slightly bothered.

"You don't need to," she shrugged. "I'm going back to Hogwarts anyway: our parents are there, aren't they?"

"Yes," Harry nodded slowly, "They are."

Silence settled uncomfortably between the siblings, as the only sound was the water running along the riverbed. The wind blew a gentle breeze across the treetops, as a few birds chirped.

"Hey, Harry?" Lillian's voice slightly croaked as she spoke. "Do you…do you have nightmares about what you did?"

"No," he replied calmly. "I saw and did much worse," he added then as clarification.

She looked at him for a moment, with tears in her eyes. "I—I do. Every night, I dream of our first year, of the second one, of this one…every night I scream to myself to do something different, anything at all to change what happened. If…If I could go back in time, I'd—" Harry's hands firmly grasped on Lillian's shoulders, as a fire of hatred so pure it made her skin crawl was behind those now steely emerald eyes.

"No," he hissed. "What is done is done. What happened has already been. You cannot and must not change the past." He snarled that, before slowly starting to breathe. "You must never try and change it."

"Do you hate me?" she asked.

"What is hate?" Harry replied letting go of her shoulders. "It's an emotion. What is anger? What is fear, love, happiness? They are but single lights of a spectrum, one that only in its ensemble can become visible," he murmured. "But no, I don't hate you." He shook his head. "I don't love you like a sister, I frankly don't think there is much between us beyond the blood but…but I still came here to give you the letter for Hogwart."

Lillian clenched her hands against her robes, before whispering. "Why?"

"Because…" he exhaled slowly, "I can't come to bring myself…to kill you."

Her eyes widened in disbelief.

"You're probably the 'chosen' one of whatever prophecy there is around today about Dark Lords, if this is my line of thought but…I can't kill you. Given motivation, it would take me less than two minutes to slice our parents throats. Given a reason, I could kill Hermione with ease. Given even the tiniest bit of information…I could kill anyone. I showed that in the hall at Hogwarts…I don't know if this is what they call sociopaths or monsters but…I can't kill you. I don't know why, I don't even know if there actually is a reason or a prophecy…only that…I can't kill you."

She took a step backwards.

"And that is why I need you to come back to Hogwarts," he replied. "It's the only way to keep me in check, Lillian." He brought his right hand to his messy hair, holding it there for a moment as he clasped at his locks. "I…I'm no longer scared of what I am," he whispered. "I do not fear what I have become," he added. "I am all that I despised," he chuckled grimly. "I have become a fucking bastard, a half-witted fool who believes all are out for their blood, all are unworthy of being trusted…I trust Hermione, but I would kill her if she betrayed me. I do not trust you, I wouldn't tell you half of my plans even if forced…but I can't kill you."

He grimaced. "Maybe there's a saying somewhere that goes like this… 'You can't trust what you can't kill, but you can trust what you can.' Or something like that…" he shrugged. "Did I scare you?"

Lillian didn't answer for a while. Her face was moving through various displays of emotions. There was doubt, fear, sadness, grief…there was anger, disbelief…in the end, however, she calmed down.

"No," she replied strongly. "I'm not afraid," she murmured, settling her gaze on his. "I'm not scared of you. And I never will."

"Well then," he remarked looking at the sky. "Will you come to Hogwarts?"

"I'll be there when the term starts," she briskly answered. "And when it does start, I will hound you like a shadow so you better keep yourself in check!"

Harry chuckled. He chuckled as he made a small bowing gesture. "Well," he winked. "See you."

And then, he disapparated.

Lillian exhaled.

She was going to show him! Gryffindor's lions were brave, and she would make him see the mistakes in his path…even if she had to fight him back.

Draco Malfoy

"Praetorians! Present-at-arms!" he barked the command, immediately eliciting the response of the seventh years that had arrived two days before the rest of the Hogwarts classes.

They all wore leather vests, made of dragon-skin. The golden P on their chests now claimed them as Praetorians, rather than as Prefects…and there were far, far more of them now.

"The train has left the station, Knight Malfoy," his second in command announced calmly. "It was considerably smaller than last year."

"What of the Durmstrang?"

"She's at full capacity," Daphne Greengrass remarked.

"Very well," Draco nodded. "And concerning the summer-students?"

"We have received positive confirmation from more than half of them. They will be arriving through portkey."

"Understood," the Malfoy heir clapped his hands once. "Praetorians! March!"

As one, the dozen of Praetorians that had stood to attention in front of him began to move, their boots moving against the ground with a rhythm that made the echo resonate throughout the hallways they trudged upon.

They went past the dining hall, past the entranceway and through the grounds towards Hogsmeade. They took the carriages, letting the Thestrals —he had never seen one before, but now apparently all that had been present to the 'night of the bloody rebellion' could see them clearly— guide them towards the village.

The manifestos attached to the walls of the village's houses and to the station that denounced Harry as some sort of bloodthirsty tyrant were quickly spell-removed —it wouldn't do as a good first impression to have them visible.

"Knight Malfoy!" the female unnerving voice that was unfortunately familiar to him made him turn and raise an eyebrow. "Yes, Knight Granger?"

Hermione's robes were a deep navy blue, as her hair tied in a long tress that descended towards her back shone from its dark black color. Her hazel eyes rolled. "Seriously," she began. "You're going to scare the kids like that."

Her Praetorians were more laxly dressed, all wearing robes and holding their wands not in their hands but on the straps to their sides.

"Shouldn't you be studying the finances?" Draco raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not that smart, Draco," she smiled. "Thanks for your trust on the matter however," she shook her head slightly. "And you know the train won't be here for at least an hour?"

"Of course I know," Draco replied. "Doesn't mean I can't wait for it."

Silence settled between the two, as well as the two retinues who were busy looking both stern and militaristic —Draco's— or calm and collected —Hermione's.

The train finally arrived with a set of loud puffs of smoke, stopping after reaching the end of the station. The carriages' doors rattled and soon opened, releasing a steady stream of students both old and new.

"First years!" Hermione exclaimed waving her hand. "First years with me!"

"Wasn't I supposed to get first years?" Draco retorted raising an eyebrow.

"You don't mind me stealing them," she replied with a knowing look. "You hate dealing with imbeciles…aren't those your words?"

"Touché," Draco raised both hands in surrender. "All years above, follow me!"

He ignored the look of contempt from Daphne. Yes, he was letting the muggleborn witch win this…but it wasn't worth arguing over something like this. It just was extra ammunition in case a showdown came out inevitable.

"I can't believe she did that," Daphne bitterly mumbled as she sat next to him.

"She did it to test me," he drawled back as he waited for the carriage to fill, before letting it depart. "It was clear."

"It's abuse of power, plain and simple," Daphne murmured.

"And you think she thought of it alone?" Draco snorted. "No, she was ordered to. Harry's probably trying to test out her limits, and she in turn tests out mine."

"What are you talking about?"

"Hermione doesn't enjoy giving orders," he remarked. "She'd rather spend her time cooped up in the library or following Harry like some lost kitten. He's making her go around and do things so she doesn't, hoping to see her actually refuse once. I suppose this display of power was the lowest of the scales. Maybe he'll ask her to burn the library eventually."


"Yes," Draco nodded. "I wonder why he was not chosen for Slytherin."

"Didn't he say so himself?" Daphne murmured trying to concentrate. "I heard he said something about…the greatest Dark Wizards not actually being from Slytherin."

"Yes," the blond boy remarked. "After all the great ones are never caught…right, Harry?"


"Nothing," Draco shook his head. "I know he has means to see things happening when he isn't there. If only I can find out how he does that…"

Finally, the students descended the carriages at the entrance, and from there went towards the Dining Hall with Draco at the head. Along the way, they passed by a giant tapestry that the castle elves had woven by themselves.

The interwoven silk strands depicted Harry wielding his wand with his mantle flapping, and nearing the castle for the first time like any other student —except the elves had decided he needed to have a mantle for this.

The picture then went on to show through various scenes his dedication to books, and him inspiring the Slytherin —he blamed Dobby for having depicted a blond boy standing slightly taller than the others in a semi-circle around the talking Harry. In the back, he could swear someone had drawn steel red eyes near a shadow. The picture went on, moving to Harry mastering spells that created lances or that brought forth spikes of earth from the ground.

It showed him facing another figure, helped by two teachers that keenly resembled Snape and Flitwick. It showed him sorrowful for the loss of his parents. It displayed Snape with a sad and grieving face —he had to ask his godfather how he had managed to get his face done in the tapestry so well— obliviating Harry under Dumbledore's orders.

Still, it depicted the end of the cup, with Dumbledore shown with dark red eyes and an evil smirk pointing his finger at the hourglasses figuring the points and adding a lot to Gryffindor. In that moment, the tapestry also showed Harry whispering to another Ravenclaw, who in the next panel rose together with the rest of the houses with their fists up…as the cup was handed to head-bowing Gryffindors shown humiliated.

The Tapestry moved on, showing him 'exiled' to the cure of a dreadful witch —his aunt, out of all people, was not even meant to see the word 'adoption' with a spy-glass to begin with— who still trained him more. It showed his suffering, his twitching and then his coming back for another year…this time fully determined with fire in his eyes.

Draco actually wondered how long they had made the tapestry —then again, with the corridors expanding to allow all the rooms…there was a lot of bare rock remaining— as he gave a glimpse to the boy befriending a Basilisk, showing him ankle deep in sewer-water as he spoke with his arms wide to the beast in question. It showed him in some sort of 'hero' actions, saving other students from being bullied —which he didn't recall happened, unless he was mistaken— and things like that.

It showed the Gryffindors plotting, with small strings appearing from their backs and moving to giant hands that belonged to a caricature of Dumbledore. The elves had to have hated the man to sewn him in like that. It showed the plot against Harry and him having to run for his life. It displayed Hermione being taken as yet another prisoner, before moving forward as Harry was trained in a strange grey castle by an old and stern looking man.

The tapestry showed entering Azkaban, and coming out with Hermione held in his arms and the Dementors following his steps like an army of darkness, with their own mantles flapping to the invisibly drawn wind. It showed him march towards Nurmengard —which resembled a lot the place he had trained— and battle and defeat both a hulking undead monstrosity and a giant Cerberus, using a sword that shone brightly.

The look on Harry's face had slowly begun morphing throughout the tapestry, and now steel replaced the soft eyes of the beginning Harry. In another panel, he rose with two giant ships armed with many cannons, to fire upon Durmstrang and claim it as his own, after battling a dark mage with the use of fire and freeing the prisoners from a blood ritual.

He fought then against Salazar, destroying the reborn Founder and recuperating as a phoenix of pure red flames had its wings opened behind him —making him look like a fiery angel…really, someone had to tell him who had taught the elves how to sew.

The last panels finally reached the true apex of the story, as it showed Harry returning to Hogwarts with a golden mantle, a wand held tightly and a staff ready to do battle. The castle itself was shown burning, as Gellert Grindelwald —which again resembled Harry's teacher in the previous panels— fought Dumbledore and was defeated, casting in the shadows the Ravenclaws depicted as a bleeding Raven. It also showed two innocent students secretly killed by a poised dagger, held by the same Dumbledore-caricature.

There was some confusion next, as the elves had apparently no idea what to draw first. It was a follow up of images of Harry, talking to other students, pointing his finger at some who had to be punished, menacing with his wand a Gryffindor…it showed him fighting off an Acromantula invasion and at the same time depicted him dressed in purple and standing atop a tower.

It showed him fight against a ghost, against an army of ghosts and then against a ghost that resembled Peeves a lot. The fight, the battles…they happened with him alone and suffering painfully as his body was wounded repeatedly by them. Each battle brought forth a wound, but this didn't stop him.

In the end, he impaled with his staff the ghost that resembled Peeves, and an enormous flower bloomed just as magic seemed to fly freely from it and back in the castle…

Finally, a glorious battle between Dumbledore and Harry occurred, squashing and tearing apart a tower as they fought. Snape redeemed himself there, burning the trinkets that held the soul of the mad-wizard. Harry fought, finally claiming his victory over the weakened man by piercing him with a sword poisoned and powerful.

As Dumbledore stood there, dead, Harry rose and claimed the sword back. The nearly last panel of the tapestry showed him fighting off the few who held Dumbledore's strings attached to their backs —puppets without a puppeteers— and winning over them.

Then, the final panel…

It showed him move with a mantle of red and white, the same worn by a King.

It showed him with sword at his side, wand in his other hand. It showed him holding a phoenix on his shoulder and a Basilisk looming behind him. It showed him…

It showed him in the dining room of the castle of Hogwarts, holding on a serious face and a stern glare.

And when Draco Malfoy moved towards the door, ready to open them and deliver upon the students the vision of the man himself —he could not call him a boy, there was no way— in the very same position as the tapestry…

He stilled for a moment.

"The Tapestry you have seen…" he exhaled.

"It was made by the elves of the school," he remarked. "And it is entitled…"

"The Chronicles of the King."

Author's notes

I decided on the Epilogue.

Hold your horses.

I never said the story is finished. Only that I can no longer stand to watch the title Chronicles of the King when the 'Rise' is done.

I decided in the end, rather than to place the next 'book's' incipit on chapter 96…to just let it be the epilogue of this massive undertaking I went through.

There will eventually be a new story with the continuation of this, but at the moment…

I'm glad I managed to write up to 96 chapters of this thing.


A last word to my readers:

First off, excuse the size or length of this AN, but hey, it's the last one for this particular story, so I went back to the good old ways when I first began to write…meaning a reply to every review!

Vikraal: thanks pal, your continuous reviews always made my day, and you were always there ready with your theories and what-not. I'm glad to have you as a trusty reader.

Tenchifew: another of my trusty readers, who I find in any story I write of. Thanks for your reviews too!

Sayianwizard: keep yourself ready then!

Snakefang93: Glad you enjoyed them!

Obliviandragon: I appreciate your sentiment…I hope you don't get this update notification when you're driving though.

Bulwersator: I understand your point. I always enjoy watching character mature, grow up, change as they go along. I enjoyed Guilty Crown when it showed the protagonist forced to mature towards the last chapters, I literally loved Lelouch's reasoning and his final martyrdom. (I cried like hell, but hey, I enjoyed it to the very last second) The point is: evil can change. I always thought the Voldemort of the real author of HP lacked something. The old meaning of 'he's Voldemort, he is evil because yes, he was in an orphanage and nobody loved him' isn't enough…at least for me. It needs more. Like Harry, maturation of a character comes with time.

Still, I was glad to have you onboard too, considering all the reviews you sent as you kept on reading. (You're an Hermione fan, aren't you? XD)

Darkshura: thank you for reviewing!

Mrs Yaya: I hope then I will be able to deliver more in the future!

To all the readers big and small, around and about the globe…

Thank you.

Thank you for reviewing. Thank you for reading. Thank you even for having flamed the story, or having hated it. Thank you for having pointed out the horrible grammar, English American and what-not. Thank you for having taken the time to read something written by me.

I thank you all, those who were kind when pointing out my flaws and those who weren't but didn't hide beneath the mask of Guest-hood.

I thank the flamers who, even while in Guest, kept on reading apparently up to chapter seventy or something…

I thank those of Darklordpotter forums for simply having taken the time to review and say what they liked and didn't like, and I thank the guys at Narutoplayground for taking the time to…well, suffer with my madness.

I thank for not having already sent a notice to have me interned, and I thank the Rowling for having written the HP books (even with the plotholes and what-not, but that's the publishers' faults who wanted more, not hers who just wanted to write the first book and be done with it)

I thank…

Well, I thank everyone I remember and I don't, so…

From Italy, the country which had for a really short time trains in time (Mussolini jab) and where you can rather find the latest sexual scandal on the newspaper rather than what happens in this economic crisis…your writer, your author Shadenight123…

Bids you a good day, night, or morning…

See you for the next great adventure.

(Will I reach one hundred chapters with that? Let us hope…)