A King at Hogwarts
Hermione Granger was a book-smart thick on memorizing data.
He was wit-smart, and he generally worked best with his body rather than his mind. Still, the information he had to learn wasn't heavy, and most of the theory he knew it quickly thanks to his practical applications. He was actually mildly offended some sort of idiotic 'other him' couldn't even memorize a simple thing like Transfiguration. He was even using the wrong wand to begin with!
"Shouldn't we do a general review of the past years?" was the right question with Hermione. Within the end of the first day, he had enough notes to carry him through a very fast and skimpy resume of the missing years. By the end of the third day, he was on-par.
Were Hermione's eyes actually tearing up?
"I knew you could do it, Harry," she sniffled. "I knew it."
"Thanks?" he replied hesitantly.
"Now answer me," Hermione began with her usual bossy tone. "What brought this up? How did you get this smart? Are you taking a Wit-Sharpening potion? You know it's useless, because once the effects are over you lose all—"
"I just wanted to change, Hermione," Harry shrugged as he flicked his wand —sending the books back to their places in the library. "Only that."
"If it isn't Potter and his Mudblood friend," the drawled voice —very familiar— made Harry wince, as he turned around to stare at Draco Malfoy, surrounded by both Crabbe and Goyle and with Pansy Parkinson right behind him.
"Draco," he answered back. "How are you doing?"
"Potter, cease being so overtly familiar with me this instant! I am an enforcer of the High Inquisitor Dolores Umbridge, and I demand respect! Not that I can expect such a thing from a savage like you, Potter."
"Are you sure, Draco?" Harry asked then, slowly standing up. "Do you really want this?" he added calmly. "Because if that is your wish, then I have to ask you to kneel in my presence."
There was silence, deafening around them, for a moment. Then Draco began to laugh, loudly. Soon even Crabbe and Goyle joined in, with Parkinson adding her high-pitched voice to the cacophony.
"Me? A Malfoy? Bowing to you!? Really Potter! Have you gone mad!? I am a Pureblood of—"
"Kneel," he hissed in that moment. As if slammed down by a powerful force, Draco's face impacted against the ground, the laughter dying out and being replaced by a shriek from Pansy, as Crabbe and Goyle tried to point their wands at him.
"Trudo," he off-handedly remarked, slamming only the blunt force of the spell against them —enough to throw them against the opposite side of the wall and let him hear the satisfying sound of their ribs cracking.
"Harry!" Hermione's scandalized cry caught his attention.
"What?" he asked back equally surprised. "They wanted to do this by the rules! I am giving them the rules! The mighty Pureblood wins, right? Look at him!" he slammed his foot straight against Draco's face, the sickening crunch of bones broking and teeth being snapped extremely satisfying. It was a first time.
For the first time he was in the position of power without much to worry about.
He was starting to like the place.
"Now, Draco," he grasped the blond boy by the hair, pulling him up so that he could face him if he got down on his knees. "I want you to beg. Beg me to spare your pathetical and inferior life, beg me like you have never begged Voldemort before and I will let you live." He cooed it out gently. "Or I will kill you and nobody will ever find your remains." He whispered the last part to his ear, before letting the boy's hair go.
"Yo…You're mad…" Draco still managed to wheeze out.
"That was not what I was expecting Draco," his wand was soon pointed at the boy's back. "I wonder, if I remove your spine will you be…flexible enough to understand when you have to bow to your betters?" he added thoughtfully. "Maybe not, then again you convinced Madam Pince not to come around this section of the library for how long? Fifteen minutes? Twenty?"
"You'll be expelled Potter!" Pansy shrieked. "You will—"
"Moleo." And Pansy's blouse exploded to smithereens, as her flesh was ravaged by a smell designed to grind and tear apart —toned down to merely make her skin rash and bleed.
Blood sprayed out as the girl fell on the ground, screaming in pain.
"My, I think they went as far as getting her to leave the library," he commented off-handedly to Hermione. The girl was pale and trembling, looking at him with fear in her eyes. "What are you looking at, Hermione? They would have done the same to us. They wanted a battle…I gave them one," he shook his head, quickly casting the Reparo spell on everything they had suffered and possessed.
They would keep the scars, as a reminder. Yet now there was no proof he had used any spell on them, and as they lay scarred on the ground…he could always mock ignorance. He was pretty sure there were laws against Purebloods being given Veritaserum. He'd abuse them.
The deal could work both sides, after all.
"I'll throw them out of here," he sighed. "Be a good girl and keep this our little secret, all right?" he smiled to her.
"Harry," she whimpered. "You're scaring me."
"Oh?" he blinked. "Well come on, it can't be that bad. Surely they did horrible stuff to you, right? This is just…poetic revenge, really."
"You nearly killed them!" Hermione was starting to find her bossy side back, he knew he should have left with her frightened like a rabbit. "And the spells you used! You're not Harry! You're not the Harry I know of!" she exclaimed fretfully, her wand out.
The next instant, her wand was now in his hand.
"And instead of firing a spell at me, you talked first," Harry rolled his eyes. "Sheesh, have you no shame? There's a Dark Lord around!" he chided her like an angry mother —that was sure to get to her nerves. "And this is all you do?"
He slammed with his wand the four fainted bodies of the Slytherin out of the library. "There, I cleaned the garbage." Shrugging, he threw Hermione's wand back at the girl. "Do me a favor, and stop thinking about what is right or wrong for the law. Start thinking what the right thing is for yourself."
And then Harry left the library smiling and winking at Madam Pinch, who was outside staring dumbfounded at the heap of bodies now out of her 'sanctuary of books'.
"Get them to the infirmary…they might die if you don't," and then, with a shrug, he was gone from there and headed towards the Chamber of Secrets.
His luck of course played against him, making him cross the path with the Headmaster far before he could even reach the floor.
"Mr. Potter!" the Headmaster was actually angry. "The paintings—"
"They attacked first," he shrugged. "I answered back. Look under the voice of Blood Privileges. They accused and brought defamation against my…noble name," he suggested. "I could have killed them. I didn't because frankly, it would be a bad impression on the school."
"Still, we should discuss this in my office, there are still laws that safeguard the students and…where are you going?"
"Oh, just follow me already," Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm going for my friend. Heather should be around the Chamber of Secrets I suppose. She's quite the nice—"
"Is she perchance the Basilisk?"
"Yes, she is. The other Harry freed her?"
"We should discuss this in priv—"
Harry wasn't listening. He dashed through the corridors, hastily ordering the Chamber of Secrets to open as he reached for the dingy looking sewer-like appearance. There rotting above the stone bridge was none other than Heather's corpse. He slowed down, catching his breath with long shuddering breaths as he gently touched the tip of the Basilisk's nose with his hand.
"Heather?" he whispered. "Heather? Answer me, come on girl," he added. "Who did this to you?" her eyes had been gouged out, dried blood still visible on her face. "Who did this?" he clenched his fists as he screamed in the air.
"WHO DID THIS!?"
"Mr. Potter!" in a flash of crimson, both the Headmaster and Sop…Fawkes, appeared behind him within the room. "Calm yourself!"
"Who. Did. This!?" he snarled back, "Who killed Heather!?"
"She was not the…friend you believed. Not here at least! She attacked the students, under Voldemort's words! Fortunately none died and…"
"What about her then? She didn't die?" he retorted, taking a step forward towards the Headmaster as the water around them began to ripple. "Is she sleeping then? Because to me it looks like she's fucking dead!"
"Mr. Potter! Language!"
"Language!? I know Parseltongue for the love of Merlin! Why the hell didn't I use it to talk to her!?"
"As I said before, she was under the control of Voldemort. Your…other self, he reached the chamber to save young Miss Weasley who had been taken under control by—"
"And of course I couldn't talk with a Basilisk using Parseltongue, right? I had to fight! You know what!? I hope I never get to meet that other me! Because right now, all I can see is a wimpy imbecile who would rather play Quidditch than learn how to kill a Dark Lord! For heaven's sakes, I wasn't even the prophesized one and yet I was thrice the wizard he was in second year! I could tear apart with my own hands any other student! I could fight and plough my way through the worse! And you're telling me that my other self couldn't even TALK IN PARSELTONGUE!?"
"The Basilisk was controlled by…"
"How? Imperius? On a magical beast?" Harry snarled back. "No, answer me. I've got the half-idea of what happened. Let me guess, a diary right? Possessed people yeah? And you know, I still reasoned with her. Heather was my friend, my first honest to god friend I knew would never betray me. And you are telling me she was controlled? Fuck off Dumbledore! Fuck. Off."
His wand in hand, Harry's eyes narrowed. "I will get my wand back today, and tomorrow, if I feel like it, I'll be back." He gestured to the sides of the room, his right hand circling as the wand made an oval shape above him.
"Speak to me Salazar! Greatest of Hogwarts' four!"
The ripples in the water grew in intensity, as straight in front of Dumbledore, at the end of the rock bridge Salazar's statue opened its mouth.
"Hogwarts always held its secrets close," Harry remarked calmly as he walked forward. "I'll be at Ollivander's first, to check on something. If it isn't there, I'll get myself a portkey to Gregorovitch."
"Mr. Potter! There is a Dark Lord around and…"
"I killed Karkaroff with my own hands at the end of the first semester of third year. I was named the heir of Merlin and of Hogwarts' founders, and I can assure you, Dumbledore, that I know how to hide."
The invisibility cloak came loose from the inner folds of his robe as he wrapped it around himself. "I'm keen on getting back home and having a chat with my other self, but until then…I'll need my wand."
The old wizard looked at him warily, before sighing desperately. "You understand that should you leave, it would be our Harry who would have to shoulder the consequences of your actions?"
"So what?" he shrugged. "What else would he do except kill my friends and play Quidditch?"
"Do you not enjoy the sport? A lot of people your age do," Albus tried again, a small smile on his lips even as his mind realized he'd probably have to take precautions for when the other Harry would come back. The next moment, and the expressive face of Albus disappeared to leave the place to a blank slate.
"How subtle," Albus schooled his features, the smile now forced. "I barely felt it at first."
Harry raised an eyebrow, before nodding slowly. "Being mind-raped ends up with interesting results eventually. Sometimes I'm not even doing it intentionally."
"I see," the headmaster's right hand went to his beard thoughtfully. "I have to ask you to refrain from doing things too much diverse from our Harry however, or it will not be a secret at all soon."
"Maybe we shouldn't keep it a secret," Harry shrugged. "That way, when I leave people will understand the difference easily."
"Even then, I hope that as a student of this Hogwarts, you will refrain from killing any of the students. From another world or not, Mister Potter, murder is a most foul crime in the wizardry world."
"You told that to your Harry when he killed Heather?"
Albus didn't flinch again. "I am sorry for your loss, but this Basilisk and your Basilisk are different animals, different people...Basilisks are mindless beasts here, certainly not friends —they are barely restrained and only parselmouths may command them."
Harry took a few steps towards the open mouth of the stone Founder. "What appears to be and what is…they are seldom the same thing, Dumbledore."
"You will not desist?"
"I cannot," he retorted. "My wand is a part of me, more than you can imagine…"
"I understand," Albus acquiesced. "Why would you pass by there, though? I could make you a portkey directly into the Wandmaker's shop."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "I'd rather take the floo."
"My office has a fire pit," the Headmaster supplied back.
"I won't trust anything of yours for a long time, Dumbledore."
The old wizard sighed and raised his eyes to the sky. "What have I done?"
"You mean, except the mind—"
"Yes, I understood that clearly."
And then Harry simply walked out on the old wizard, climbing through the secret exit that apparently brought him outside to Hogwarts' grounds.
He'd have to learn how to make a portkey or how to apparated eventually —if he couldn't rely on Sophie, he was practically stranded.
As he walked his way towards Hogsmeade, he began to wonder.
What if there was Salazar as a wand?
Should he snap it?
But then again…
What if there wasn't?
What if…what if Salazar was still alive, somewhere around the world?
Even more bone chilling however was something else that slowly crawled its way through Harry's spine.
What if Salazar was already Prime Minister?
Harry's growing paranoid.