Disclaimer: Harry Potter and such belong to the lovely Rowling.
Warning: Implied remarks, less than morally-acceptable thoughts, etc, etc.
Summary: Harry Potter could never be the hero. But, she might make a great villain. -COMPLETE- F!Harry Fem!Harry Gray!Harry
Harry Potter could never become a truly good little girl. When she reached the age of five, Harry realized such and accepted her new reality. Once upon a time there might have been a chance for her, but in truth that chance never came.
Good girls did not win.
As a child Harry was conditioned to be well-behaved. Her mannerisms were scrutinized to the highest degree, and even the tiniest hint of rebellion was furiously countered. In the beginning, Harry Potter strived to meet her uncle and aunt's exacting standards, hoping against all hope that she would garner their appreciation and admiration. She was demure, gentle, soft-spoken, and always obedient. Unfortunately for the little girl, nothing she could conceivably do would win their affection.
Her cousin, on the other hand, had their endless affection despite being everything Harry was not.
And that was when Harry Potter knew that she would never win, never survive, if she continued to only be a good girl.
Good people only won in stories. In reality the manipulative, cunning, and bad people truly won.
Hopes and dreams had no place in Harry's life.
There were goals, and there were means.
So, Harry gave up trying to be a good little girl because she knew she would not last much longer as such. Instead, Harry Potter became a bad little girl.
Not obviously, of course. Harry wasn't an idiot; she knew if she started acting like the traditional villain in all those stories she would not live to see the end of the day. She had to be subtle, cunning, and most important of all: patient.
If she was going to be a villain, she was going to do it right and proper.
Harry became meticulous in learning how to be a good villain. She read every classical literature that held a capable antagonist, or anti-hero. She studied (obsessed) over their actions, mistakes, plans, ideas, and history. She absorbed every bit of knowledge she could pertaining to historical tyrants, dictators, or significant "bad guys" (as dubbed by society). Jacky Imbert, otherwise known as Jacky Le Mat (Jacky the Madman), the last true Godfather, and one of the greatest mob bosses in history, was a favorite.
When her chance came, Harry Potter was more than ready for it. She originally planned to maker her debut when she left her atrocious living space, but she would not turn a blind eye to any earlier opportunities.
It was only a matter of time.
Her chance came in the form of a letter, gliding through the pristine mail slot on the door.
While the Dursleys continued with their merry breakfast, Harry quietly retrieved the mail. She carefully organized the large stack of letters in accordance to urgency (as per Petunia's instructions), when she noticed a letter addressed to her.
For a brief moment she thought about hiding it away, but she knew if the Dursleys were expecting it (as unlikely as it might seem, it would be too risky not to consider it), it would spell trouble for her later on for hiding it. Harry straightened her back and entered the sun bathed kitchen.
"Madam Petunia," Harry began slowly, drawing attention to herself. Immediately she felt uncomfortable under their gazes, but she kept her chin up and continued, "I seemed to have received a letter, from… Hogwarts."
Vernon and Petunia paled immediately upon hearing the news and the large man quickly snatched the letter from Harry's hands. He ripped it apart, and threw away any bits left.
"Always bring letters from Hogwarts to us," he hissed. "That place is for freaks. I won't have a freak in my home."
A chill settled over Harry, and she knew she had to leave the kitchen before things escalated.
She excused herself.
A place for freaks? Harry wondered as she retreated into her cupboard, a phantom pain aching on her back. Then wouldn't I fit right in?
Harry was never able to retrieve another letter, as Vernon kept a close eye on the mail since then. Curiosity ate up at her at what Hogwarts really meant. A part of her hoped it was an opportunity to forever leave her living space, but the rest of her systematically repressed that hope. Surely, Harry would not be so lucky as to have such an opportunity so soon.
Then Hagrid broke down the door and whisked her off into the night.
And Harry knew that her chance had come.
She was so excited she almost burst into peals of giggles when she realized it. Thankfully, she reigned herself in and began to enact one of her many, many plans.
The first, and most important, step was to obtain knowledge. She had to learn about the current underground system - the illegal networks and such. She very much doubted that Hagrid would know, or even share if he did know, so she had a long while of musing to herself before the problem effectively solved itself.
Neutral and greedy goblins.
Oh, yes. Harry could work with that.
After Harry examined her personal vault, and Hagrid collected his "super secret" item, the two were prepared to exit the bank. Well, Hagrid was, at least.
Harry turned to Hagrid and in the sweetest voice she could manage she politely inquired, "Monsieur Hagrid, may I please stay a while longer? I have some questions about my vault."
Hagrid gave a sheepish smile. "We don' 'ave a lot of time. Bu' I s'pose I coul' grab yer books while yeh ask yer questions."
"Thank you, Monsieur Hagrid," she responded, a cute smile blooming on her face. She even made sure to add dimples.
"Oh, please," Hagrid said, not managing to keep the pleased smile off his face. "Jus' call me 'Agrid."
She only smiled in response and waved goodbye as he left. Once he was out of sight, Harry wasted little time in turning on her heel and inquired, "Monsieur Grobox? I have a few questions."
He only bared his teeth in a silent snarl in response. Taking that as a cue to carry on, Harry did.
"If I wished to contact the underground society, how would I go about doing so?" Harry bluntly asked. She was fairly confident that even if she was displayed as something less than a good little girl, the goblins wouldn't care enough to share. Besides, it seemed like very few witches and wizards gave them the time of day.
His eyes narrowed. "Underground…? You mean like You-Know-Who?"
"Who?" Harry blinked.
His eyes narrowed into slits.
She shrugged. "I am assuming this is the same man that died while I was an infant?"
"Then yes, people like him."
"There are no people like him."
"There was only You-Know-Who, and no one has dared take the title of Dark Lord since."
Harry stared at him blankly. And then very slowly she said, "You mean to tell me that no one has been greedy enough to take control of the major power vacuum?"
He only stared at her.
Her eyebrows rose. "Monsieur, might you point me to where I could find material on better learning the recent structure of this society?"
He gave her a snarl-like grin. "I am not a librarian. If you have nothing further to ask of your vaults—"
"Vaults?" Harry purred, smiling pleasantly. If the goblin noticed a darker gleam in her eyes, he did not mention it. Vaults, as in plural? "Monsieur, may I ask if perhaps there is a vault that does not store money—but items? The one we visited had only gold, and surely, my parents would have stored valuables here, and I doubt they only had money."
He bristled. "Fine! To the Potter Vault."
"Potter Vault? What, as in some sort of ancient family vault…? Dear me, is the wizarding society some sort of fanatical inbred monarchy?"
"A wand is next," Harry said, reading off the list, though what she said was only absently spoken. Her mind was still reeling from what she uncovered in the vault.
It would take time to go through each and every item in the Potter vault and catalogue it, time that she could not quite yet expend. For the time being she would have to set that aside, for she had far more important tasks to accomplish.
Plans formulated in her mind with her newfound knowledge. Not only was she lucky enough to have been gifted with seventy five thousand galleons, but there was a power vacuum!
Never had Harry dared to dream about having essentially no immediate competition! And, and, and a bumbling moronic government to boot! Oh, and their laws - if you could even call such loose rules such - were so vague and left so very man wonderful loopholes. Thinking about everything Harry could accomplish made her head spin in anticipation.
There were so many things to do! So many places to go, connections to make, lives to take…!
But, firstly, Harry had to finish her shopping. An evil mastermind was useless without the magical essentials. Next, she had to obtain a proper feel of the magical community. She needed to thoroughly understand the intricacies. Then she had to establish how to contact the people she needed, what to tell them, what plans to enact…
One thing at a time, Harry thought.
While Harry obtained her wand - a wand that apparently was twin to the one owned by You-Know-Who, the irony was not lost on her - Hagrid apparently went off to purchase her a birthday gift.
When the gentle man returned he happily handed her a beautiful black owl.
Harry flushed happily and beamed.
She had always wanted a pet.
Hagrid just made himself a special spot in her heart thanks to his kind gift.
Ronald Weasley, she discovered, was annoying.
In fact, the only reason she had not promptly ditched him was because—he was an information fountain! While he did not know of illegal activities, he had brothers everywhere. And he had even more siblings that would go everywhere. Without even meaning to, he had slipped her valuable information.
There were bars in the wizarding world, but there were no bars. Bars could be entered with children and toddlers, and everything would still be kept rated PG and occasionally PG-13. Why in the deuce any wizard hadn't tried to exploit alcohol upon ignorant young witches and wizards was beyond Harry; it was easy money. Furthermore, there was something called Knockturn Alley which dealt in 'all sorts of nasty businesses'.
An alley that would require further investigation. Then, there was Quidditch—the only thing wizards gambled on. Something that would have to change, as well.
And in walked Draco Malfoy, a complete stranger who, upon seeing Harry, smirked cockily.
She raised an eyebrow, studying his prestigious robes and slicked back hair. He screamed rich pureblood heir.
Hello, potential ally.
"So, it's true, then: Potter's on the train," the boy said, still smirking, practically brimming with arrogance.
She only quirked an eyebrow. "And you are?"
"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."
"Would you care to join Monsieur Weasley and myself? He was explaining the rules of Quidditch to me."
At the mention of sharing the same compartment as Ron, Draco's mouth twisted, but at the implication of her ignorance of Quidditch…
"You don't know what Quidditch is?" Draco demanded. He immediately marched into the compartment and sat next to her. "How can you not know?"
"I was raised by insufferable muggles, why would I know?" she pointed out irritably.
"But Quidditch is the greatest thing!" Ron blurted out.
"Weasley's right," Draco agreed, then looked as though he had a bad taste in his mouth. "This just won't do. Oh, alright, I suppose I'll have to tell you about it—can't trust a Weasley to get everything right."
While Ron bristled and the meatballs slid into a compartment next to theirs, she smiled. Always better to make potential allies and discard them later, than discard them too soon and need them later.
While Draco and Ron were in a heated discussion about their favorite teams, a girl entered the room sporting a look of mild exasperation.
"Have any of you seen a toad? A boy named Neville lost one," she said.
"Tell him to ask one of the older students to try a summoning charm for it," Harry answered.
Her eyebrows shot up and she frowned. "Why didn't I…?"
Harry smiled thinly. "Harry Potter, a pleasure Madam…?"
"Hermione Granger," Hermione clarified.
Draco's face twisted up. "Muggleborn?"
Harry's lips pursed. "Is there something wrong with that, Monsieur Draco?"
"It seems quite clear that purebloods are going about blood purity all wrong," she went on. "Do they honestly believe that they were pure from the start? They had to be ordinary at some point, or do all the families believe they are so incestuous they are all children of Merlin, who had perfectly normal parents?"
"Madam Granger is a muggleborn now," she said, still carrying on, "but, her grandchildren and so on—will they be muggleborn?"
Draco stared at her, frowning. Ron and Hermione did the same—both with mixed expressions of shock and curiosity.
"No," Draco bit out slowly.
"So why are you discriminating against her now, and thus sabotaging the Malfoy family of an ally later on?" she asked.
Draco stared at her. "What?"
"By making an enemy of her now," she clarified, "you are rivaling two houses that would be pureblood and ruining the chances of a very promising alliance in the future."
"But the Malfoy family is superior—"
"—now," she interrupted. "Yes, yes. Can you guarantee that in the future, Monsieur Draco? Are you really so arrogant and ignorant you can safely say that you will never need the help of any other pureblood family for your grandchildren?"
Draco gaped at Harry, stupefied.
"I am merely saying," Harry continued, albeit more gently than before, "that you should never turn down an alliance that might benefit you—especially when it would not hurt you to keep it."
Draco blinked, closing his mouth and eyeing Hermione carefully.
"If you are worth my time," Draco told her. "I will… accept your alliance."
"What?" Hermione blinked. "I never—"
"Madam Hermione, won't you please join us? I am sure you have never heard of Quidditch either and these two are most anxious to explain to all those who listen about it," Harry said, smiling again.
Hermione stared at her curiously, before eyeing the two other boys. "… I… suppose…"
Ron grinned at her and Draco remained indifferent.
But secretly, both were very happy to talk more about Quidditch.
Hmm? What have we here… Oh, Slytherin. Yes, definitely Slytherin.
She shivered at the voice in her head from the Sorting Hat before realizing what it was saying.
No! Harry thought fiercely. She would not be found out so easily by being placed in the most obviously antagonistic House. Besides, that's far too cliché. Put me in Gryffindor.
She needed to keep up her façade of being the hero anyway.
Well. It's true that Gryffindor would be your next House due to your... obsession (and that's actually an understatement) with dan—
Then put me in Gryffindor.
While you do show Gryffindor qualities , I believe—
I do not want Slytherin. I will not accept that house.
But you would truly—
I. Do. Not. Want. Slytherin.
Dear God, was that so hard?
… Still think you would have done better in Slytherin.
Harry had two days before classes began and she used those two days to find out who to talk to in order to get a certain task done. When she finally derived the information from a chatty Slytherin, she quickly flew to the Owlery, made a very incriminating note and sent it off with her owl.
It would be a shame she could not be there in person, but for now her owl would do just fine.
The next day she had class—Transfiguration and DADA.
Upon meeting the DADA teacher, she concluded he was some sort of sick (and not in a physical way) man and vowed if he did anything suspicious to her, she would kill him. Personally. For starters, there was the fact that her scar always seemed to hurt when around him. Her scar didn't normally hurt and she was tempted to go along the lines of 'her spidey-senses were tingling!'
But, she wasn't a superhero, so she just made a safe assumption that her life wasn't in the best of care when around him.
Then there was his stutter.
Now, a stutter wouldn't be so much of a problem—if it weren't so undeniably fake.
Harry had never heard of a stutter where the person was able to clearly pronounce every letter in the stutter in a rhythmic pattern that the stutter appeared like a clockwork, every ten seconds into the conversation, followed by thirty, then a minute, then two then—
Followed by his distinctive tendency to not look her in the eye, almost as if he was guilty of something.
Then the garlic, if he was really a DADA teacher, shouldn't he have known that only if the garlic was ingested by the vampire was it deadly? She was a first year and she knew that. How would that garlic work if he had no means of forcing the vampire to digest it? Furthermore, why would he go through the trouble of forcing the vampire to digest it—thus killing it—when he could just kill it with a nicely aimed spell? A lot simpler, too.
No, no. The garlic was there for a different reason.
And Harry had her own assumptions.
A stutter to make him appear weak. Her 'spidey-senses tingling'. Couldn't look her in the eye—guilty conscious, doubtlessly. And a strange fetish for garlic.
He was a sex offender. Obviously.
And he was clearly having disturbed visions of Harry.
Something Harry would not tolerate, but because she had no solid proof, she would merely keep her distance. But, the moment he tried something…
Transfiguration was an interesting class and Harry had a sort of respect for the strict teacher.
Nothing else could be said about it, though. Harry couldn't quite decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
When her owl returned, along with a note from a certain well connected man, she smiled.
I will agree to meet with you and bring along my associate.
Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron in London, eight p.m. this Saturday.
Carefully burning the letter, Harry smiled gleefully.
Of course, she had to go under the impression of someone else. She was walking a thin line and it would be easier to hide back into the role of good girl Harry Potter if something happened to bad boy Moratorium, hence why she kept the good girl charade. That, and it wouldn't hurt to make as many alliances as she could in every identity she held.
It would be risky, but this was risky business.
Oh, yes. Harry felt her smile widen considerably, as she felt a small thrill run through her. Risky business indeed.
History proved to be useful only as a free studying time; time she used to ponder her plans, and muse about ways of going about them. She quite enjoyed that class, even if she found the subject dry.
Herbology was actually a favorite. She always enjoyed her garden at home, so it was no surprise she took to that class, as well. Especially knowing how many dangerous and interesting plants were out there just waiting to be—
Well, she knew not everyone could like her good girl charade.
After Professor Snape finished his little monologue that had immediately perked Draco and Harry's interest—the two were sitting together, of course. He turned around and said, "Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
She blinked. Oh. She knew that. It was one of her favorites—the name had originally caught her attention. "Draught of the Living Dead."
"Sir, Miss Potter."
She frowned, feeling slightly mischievous. "Sir? But you don't need to call me sir—" the class chuckled behind her, but she ignored them. "—and wouldn't I be a ma'am then? I mean I know I haven't reached puberty, but you have to give me some credit, Professor."
Professor Snape glared disdainfully at her, his lip curling up in distaste. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for cheek, Potter. Where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?"
"A store?" she guessed. "That's usually where you find antidotes—unless you want it fresh, then you get it from a goat's stomach, sir. Oh! That's what you meant by… oh. Okay."
"Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Potter, I suggest you learn to control your mouth."
She paused for a moment, debating internally, before she decided to risk it. She raised her hand politely.
He didn't like her already, Harry had nothing to lose—except points, but she could earn those back in other classes.
"What, Miss Potter?" Professor Snape asked, his eyes narrowing.
"Well," she began carefully. "I was curious as to why you were showing such blatant dislike for me before I even opened my mouth. I can understand now, sir, as I have proven to be rather, as you say, cheeky. But, it goes two ways now as well. I have lost all respect for you by your repeated inquiring of advanced materials in an attempt to make me look like an incompetent moronic idiot, which makes you appear as some sort of petty bully, you see. But, back to my original curious question… why me?"
He did not answer. With the most flushed and hateful glare yet, his voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Detention with me, Potter, tonight!"
She shrugged. At least she didn't lose any more points.
Detention was uneventful, as he just made her scrub cauldrons with her bare hands and no magic. Really, she had worse punishments at the Dursley's. When that was done, she only had Astrology and Charms and then she could focus on her… business.
With the weekend finally there, Harry rummaged through her bag before procuring one of the few items she had taken from the vaults. It was a small bag with a unique charm inside it. In actuality it was a portable floo.
Naturally, the bag perked her interest when she noticed how it was so carefully hung and singled out. She inquired as to its uses to the goblin, who explained the floo network and such to her. She was very pleased to have made the discovery.
The bag was small enough to be held in one of her hands and, after informing Hermione she would be taking a long walk around the school before doing her homework, she snuck off to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, then greeted the ghost with a smile.
"Hello, dear," Harry greeted. Myrtle was melodramatic and at times a bit annoying, but it was she who knew nearly everything about the castle. Myrtle was beside herself to have held the attention of Harry so very closely - the ghost craved undivided and lavishing attention. Harry knew Myrtle would cover for her due to that attention.
For only a few minutes of time every day and some kind words Harry had secured the steadfast loyalty of one of the most useful ghosts in the school.
"Hello, Harry," Myrtle called back, giving her a shy smile. "Where are you off to?"
Harry pulled out the other item she had taken from the bag—a bag with an undetectable expendable charm.
"I'm going to make some business offers. Would you mind making sure no one comes in while I change?"
"Oooh! If someone comes, can I scare them?"
"Whatever pleases you, dear."
Myrtle gave a gleeful laugh and dove away while Harry rummaged through the pack. Finally finding the ring she needed, she slipped it on her finger.
Harry felt a strange sensation wash over her before it passed. She blinked away the dizziness before looking into the mirror and quirking an eyebrow. Her normally long curly black hair was now significantly shorter and cut. Her feminine face was rougher, sharper. And her first hints of breasts were mercilessly repressed, her height was increased, her frame more agile…
The ring had successfully changed her genders. She then pulled out the second ring, momentarily aging her by five years. Sadly, she couldn't age herself any more—only decrease or increase her age by five, but it would do.
At last, she changed her clothes. Gone was her Hogwarts uniform, instead she wore a snazzy suit with a very nice suit hat to match. She slipped on a scarlet red tie. She was surprised when she realized she knew how to properly tie one.
Wonder where I learned that skill?
The outfit wasn't exaggerated, but it was certainly expensive. Nothing too much, but enough to give the impression that she had money—which she did of course, but not as much as she wanted them to think at the moment.
She tucked away her Hogwarts uniform in her bag before pulling out a long red scarf. After safely wrapping the scarf around the lower half of her face and putting the bag away she called out,
"If you die, you can share my toilet!"
Harry gave a humorless chuckle before floo'ing to the Leaky Cauldron.
"I require the assistance of killing a man."
Marwyn Movilani wasn't quite sure what to think of the young man sitting across from him. Marwyn was an excellent assassin, one of the best really, and only the wealthy could ever afford his minimum fee.
He was a handsome young man, with smooth tan skin and pale blond hair pulled back into a low pony-tail. What he could not kill, he could always charm.
So he found it surprising when one of his old acquaintances contacted him for a new job, and introduced himself to... this young man. Jared Brusche had contacted him, telling him there was a bloke who needed a job done. Marwyn specialized in these types of jobs, yes, but most of his employers were…
Well. Not so young.
Marwyn continued to eye the young man skeptically. Jared had long since dismissed himself since the man appeared.
"And how would you have it done?" Marwyn asked, his Italian accent coming out heavier than usual.
The young man cocked his head. "You do not question who to kill first. How wonderful. It must be an accident. A tragic death."
"As usual," Marwyn muttered under his breath.
"I would assume," he said pleasantly. "It is a muggle. A gentleman by the name of Larry Brew." The young man paused, dipping into his coat with a black gloved hand and pulling out an envelope. "This will provide all the information you need."
"Payment," Marwyn said.
"Seven hundred galleons; two hundred up front and five hundred when finished."
Marwyn, to his credit, did not raise an eyebrow. All that for a Muggle? Far too easy… did the man realize he was being scammed?
Several moments passed while Marwyn considered the young man before him, and at the end of those moments Marwyn realized that wasn't true. The young man knew very well how much of an overblown it was. He seemed to realize that and accept it. In fact, judging from the way Moratorium's inquisitive eyes bore into Marwyn, he could assume he was hoping for Marwyn to realize this as well. As if—
Marwyn almost smiled. Clever boy.
Because by promising plenty of money now, the boy definitely increased the chances of Marwyn coming back to him for more work, and thus more money. Moreover, it increased the chance of more loyalty out of Marwyn. By offering an exorbitant amount of money for such a small job, the boy was setting himself up.
Setting himself up for what, Marwyn didn't know. From a first glance, though, Marwyn had a sneaky feeling it would be something big.
Marwyn smiled. "I take it there will be more jobs after this?"
The boy seemed to smile, very pleased with Marwyn's question. "If I find the results satisfactory."
"Do not shame me, Signor. I aim to please."
Harry was indeed very pleased with the results of the Italian assassin. Very pleased indeed. Larry Brew was a rival of Vernon. With him out of the way, Vernon's business would undoubtedly increase—not that Harry was hoping to please Vernon. It's just that if Vernon's business improved… he would be busier… busier meant less time at home… less time at home meant more chances for her to sneak away during the summer and work blissfully on her project.
That, and it was a safe way to test the man. A test Marwyn passed with flying colors.
Immediately, Harry wrote to Marwyn using the owl—aptly named Envoy—specially bought for these trips. She was the same owl Hagrid bought, true, but she was the only means of safe transportation Harry had.
Well, not true, but until the connections were made, an owl would do.
And Marwyn replied, almost immediately.
Acting as your messenger, I am, am I? Very well, Signor Moratorium.
I have bought the flat you have requested and I am currently following the instructions you have placed.
I will be sure to follow them to the letter, in exchange for the five hundred galleons you promised me.
Harry almost yipped with joy. Of course she actually didn't as she wasn't alone when reading the letter and that would surely draw attention to herself, but nonetheless… It was pleasant news.
The next step to establishing herself would be to decide where she would go.
Obviously she would be taking an underground hold eventually. If the Dark Lord was long gone and there was an open space… who was she to deny herself the opportunity of taking that spot? Before that, though, the wizarding world would need an underground network. Honestly, it was too… disorganized, and... clean. Oh, the nasties were there alright, they were just too disorganized to even be noteworthy.
They didn't even have a magical brothel in all of Britain.
But they certainly had prostitutes. They were just homeless and in sore need of a bath.
They didn't even have a real bar—an actual rated R or unrated (depending on the night) bar that forbade children to go in. Naturally, Harry herself wouldn't be attending, but there was big money in those things, and Harry had every intention of taking advantage of the lack of strict laws regarding such things in the wizarding world. Oh, they had plenty about Dark Magic and such—but nothing about inappropriate drinking or… lusting.
And then there was the blackmailing side.
Owls. They sent valued mail through owls.
Could no one see the possibility of these being intercepted?
Something that had to be looked into. Perhaps if she could find the right people with the right sort of skills…
Then there was gambling, and dueling, and thievery, and of course she just had to have her own assassins guild. Who didn't want an assassins guild? And mercenaries (because assassins and mercenaries were different. Mercenaries did just about anything. Assassins did elegant kills). Oh yes, and races and…
So. Many. Possibilities.
But, better to start small. The bar. The bar would be made and money would come.
The bar, then the brothel, and then the owls. From then on, she would decide more carefully. The bar as the first baby step—just a toe in the water. It was just a more mature version of what she had already seen. The brothel would be more up front, but it would definitely bring in some money.
The owls would be riskier. By the time she was ready to try that she would have found the right people through the brothel and bar.
It was a step; a baby step.
But it would do for now.
The bar was a smashing success. Harry grinned happily as she sent the next instructions for the brothel to a very eager Marwyn. Her grin managed to last her throughout the entire Halloween feast—which she had to skip to mail Marwyn—but had slipped when she found the troll.
A portrait had been kind enough to warn her of the thing, so she was on the way to the tower when she stumbled across the stupid beast.
She glared at it. She was going to be the next Dark Lord—whatever that title even meant!—and she was certainly not going to let some slow mountain troll get in her way. Besides, it wasn't even a water troll. It was just incredibly strong, and incredibly stupid.
The troll noticed her and gave a disgusting grin.
She held up her wand. How embarrassing would it be if Moratorium was taken down by a mere troll? Immensely!
"Diffindo!" said Harry, pointing her wand at the exposed tender flesh of the Troll's inner elbow as it raised its arm. It was her first time using the spell on an actual target and she hoped it would be enough to work.
The troll cried out in agony as it clutched its then heavily bleeding arm.
Harry pointed her wand to his back knee as he twisted his leg, exposing the tender flesh. "Diffindo."
It cried out again, then fell to the ground with a loud thump and glowered with a mixture of fear and hatred at Harry.
She rolled her eyes before pointing her wand at its face. "Stupefy."
The troll slipped off into oblivion and she then turned on her heel and went off to the Gryffindor tower.
No point in sticking around and drawing attention.
It was at winter break when she was reminded of Quidditch practice.
Ah yes, the (what she was now beginning to consider) foolish choice. Long ago at the beginning of the school year when she first had her flying lessons, Draco decided to dare Harry to catch the fragile ball he had stolen from Neville. Naturally, she had to play the good little Gryffindor and had to accept the challenge.
Somehow in the end, she ended up as Gryffindor's youngest Seeker in a century.
She was still trying to figure out the how herself, but no matter. She saw it as an ample opportunity to further plant the seeds of how nice and Gryffindor-ish she was and not Moratorium. Now, naturally she had flown solo practices with the Keeper, Oliver Wood, but today he wanted to try out teams for the upcoming match.
And Harry really didn't want to go. She would be getting her mail from Marwyn about her brothel any moment now and…
Oh, there it was.
It was already a smashing success! Who knew gathering up all the prostitutes, providing them with a warm place to eat and sleep, bathing and clothing them in exchange for doing what they do and only giving twenty percent of what they make to the house… Forty percent of which went straight to yours truly, twenty percent to the Matriarch, thirty percent for the actual upkeep and ten percent for emergency savings… who knew it would be so ludicrously profitable?
Goodness, Harry was making quite a bit of money. Kudos for her. And it would seem Marwyn had proven to be quite reliable.
Perhaps, Harry mused, it would be time to switch to a more immediate means of communication.
That would be later, though, as Oliver was quite adamant about Quidditch. He was practically frothing at the mouth with the prospect of beating their first opponent—the Slytherins—next week.
After a very tiring lesson Harry replied to Marwyn, informing him of a new way to communicate—mirrors. Of course, nevertheless Harry couldn't allow him to see her true form so her side of the mirror was enchanted so that no one could see her—only hear her or see whatever message she wanted to project into and through the mirror.
It was quite wonderful, actually. Harry's next task for Marwyn was to see if he could find any… people that could fill the job descriptions of what she needed for the Owl Heist.
She doubted she would be in the Owl Heist business for long. Just enough to grab enough blackmail on certain people to grab attention and turn some heads. While business was booming for both the bar and brothel, they were only two places.
Harry needed to be better known. Moratorium needed to be better known.
She had to be patient, however. One step at a time.
Meanwhile, she would be getting quite a healthy deposit of galleons in her (well, Moratorium's) vault weekly…
She supposed she could deal with being patient.
"I don't know if I should cheer for you or not," Draco muttered, eyeing Harry once she finished dressing out in her House Team uniform.
"Of course you'll cheer for her. Honestly, this whole House-rivalry thing seems so silly," Hermione said with a delicate sniff.
After Hermione had made herself perfectly well-known as one of the brightest witches that generation had ever seen, Draco deemed her worthy of holding an 'alliance' with him. Because heaven forbid Slytherins had friends and not alliances.
"Who cares if he does or not," Ron put in. "She'll win either way."
"Maybe," Harry muttered. "So long as Quirrell doesn't give me the creeper eye, I won't freeze up with disgust, or anything."
"Honestly, he's too quiet to be a serious threat, stop worrying about him," Draco said.
"It's always the quiet ones," Ron muttered.
"Too true," Harry agreed. "Well, I should go head off with my team. I would say wish me luck, but clearly I won't need it."
All three snorted at that.
After dangling for her life from her broom, hacking up the snitch and winning them the game, Harry was bloody tired. She thought it was only fair that she would get a chance to sleep and such in the infirmary, but no.
"And he was making eye contact the entire time—he wasn't blinking," Hermione exclaimed. "You were right about Quirrell, something is definitely up about him."
"Well of course I was right. I'm always right," Harry said.
"I told you you shouldn't have told her that," Draco groaned, exasperated. "She's already such a narcissist, she didn't need any more help!"
"Kudos for the big word, Draco," Harry said sweetly.
He shot her a withering glare.
Harry only smiled in return. "So, the sex offender—"
"Wouldn't it be pedophile if he was fantasizing about you?" Ron asked, frowning.
"Oh, yes, that's right. So, the pedophile now has a fetish for murder," Harry summed up.
"But why you?" Draco asked, a small frown on his face. "Aren't you supposed to be the hero? The-Girl-Who-Lived and all? Why would he want to kill you?"
"Maybe it's because she's friends with a Slytherin," Ron said with a cheeky grin.
Draco awarded him a loathing glare. "Or perhaps because she's stooped so low to blood traitors."
"Wouldn't that be a bit hypocritical coming from your side now, Draco?" Harry inquired slyly.
Draco glanced at Hermione and shrugged.
"Keep focused," said Hermione, shooting both boys annoyed looks. "This is serious."
"No, he's in Azkaban," Draco muttered.
"What?" Harry asked.
"Oh, I read about him," Hermione said. "Wasn't he the mass murderer or something? Oh, I just read about him recently too! Just over three weeks ago, let me think here…"
"Later 'Mione," Harry said. "You can tell me all about him when you remember; but, for now I would like to sleep."
Okay, Harry thought to herself when her frie—alliances—left. I have a nasty suspicion that there's more to this than at first glance. Mr. Pedophile clearly has an ulterior motive, but what could it be? What could killing me possibly accomplish?
Or was he perhaps trying to kill Moratorium?
No, no. Moratorium was still just a toe in the water. No blackmail and truly illegal activities, so it would be highly unlikely he had any enemies.
Then why did someone try to kill Harry Potter? She thought for sure that she had held up her façade very well. She kept up to a very nice and good girl Gryffindor with true school spirit and a knack of getting the last word in (she couldn't quite suppress that side of her—but she tried… a little).
She doubted very much she would have offended the bloody man, so what could it possibly be? Was she some sort of key? Did her parents have enemies that—
You-Know-Who had been her enemy; possibly still was, actually. Hagrid and Draco didn't quite believe he was dead, and she had a sneaky suspicion that was correct. Assuming the previous Dark Lord was still alive it would only make sense he would want her dead, especially if he knew about Moratorium.
Monsieur Pedophile must then be some sort of Dark Lord Fanatic, or something of the like, if he was trying to rid himself of her.
The question then begged, how to proceed?
Obviously with caution and cunning. She didn't want to bring Moratorium into her problems unless she was prepared to draw attention to herself. How suspicious would it be that the Girl-Who-Lived hired a hitman to kill off her professor?
Or how suspicious would it be that said hitman already knew the danger the Girl-Who-Lived was in without supposedly ever entering the school?
Therefore, she would have to have him be eliminated via Harry Potter. She would have to confront him in a duel of sorts and make sure it appeared that she was in the right and he in the wrong; but, how to do such a thing…?
And suddenly she remembered the strange thing Hagrid pocketed from the vault. How valuable it seemed—how hushed up. How it had to go straight to Dumbledore... but why?
She remembered how the third corridor was off limits, and the twins had informed her that was not normally the case. Ergo, the corridor would only be off limits now because of something new. Something new and valuable was there. And Harry would bet all of her money that it was that strange object.
Harry smiled as a plan formed into her head. If she could steal the object and plant it on Quirrel, she could confront him about it. When questioned too deeply about why she confronted him, she could certainly bluff her way through and claim she overheard him talking to himself about stealing it. She and many other students had already overheard him talking to himself when he thought he was alone (though no one could figure out what exactly he was saying).
She could confront him, push him a little to give an attempt to kill her, then she could accidentally fire off an attack that tragically killed him.
Yes. That would work.
A Hellhound. Honestly, such a hassle. She would have to discuss with Hagrid and see if he would give her information about them.
As Harry entered Hagrid's cabin, her nose crinkled at the smell of burnt hair. Clearly, Hagrid hadn't rid himself of the smell of Norbert. Oh well, at least no one was caught and the dragon safely made it off with Charlie.
"Hagrid?" Harry inquired.
The half giant turned around from the stove and gave her a sunny grin. "Well 'ello there, 'Arry. Come for some tea?"
"Tea would be lovely, thank you. Actually, I came here to inquire about magical companions," Harry said, sliding into the hut and taking a seat on the massive chair that she normally sat in.
Hagrid glanced at her over his shoulder while he busied himself with tea. "Oh? Wha' can I tell yeh?"
"There are all sorts of beasts out there and I was beginning to consider one for myself," Harry said. "I'm not quite sure where to begin."
"Oh let's see here… wha' would you li' one for?"
"I'm not sure. Companionship, obviously. It would be useful if it could guard something. Or perhaps just simply something that could—and would—defend me," Harry said carefully. Better not ask the questions too directly.
"Hmm," Hagrid mused. "Well. hippogriffs are 'ovely things—very proud of course, you see, but very 'ovely. They're very loyal, too and they would guard as 'ell as defend their masters. But it takes quite a bi' for them to consider anyone a master. Le's see… griffins are good as 'ell, same as hippogriffs."
"Really?" Harry inquired. "What if I wanted something bigger?"
"Bigger?" Hagrid repeated, almost absently. "Bigger ons' are certainly a lot more fun, I think. There's hellhounds and… basilisks…"
"Hellhounds and basilisks?" Harry repeated, then immediately frowned. She hadn't meant to repeat basilisks, but her curiosity took hold of her tongue.
"Oh, yes," Hagrid said, smiling and turning around and presenting her with very sweet tea. She smiled at him as she sipped the tea. "Never had a basilisk myself 'course. But I 'ave had a hellhound."
"Really? Can you tell me about them—both of them?" Harry asked.
"Well hellhounds are mighty fine creatures, they are. Very 'oyal and guard very well. They're a bit of a handful to raise but well worth it, I think."
"But they sound dangerous," Harry said. "What if they attacked you? Or got too restless?"
"You relax 'em 'course," Hagrid said. "Take Fluffy—the Hellhound I raised—you just play him a bit of music and he'll fall right 'sleep."
"Fluffy?" Harry repeated. "He sounds… actually quite adorable. Will I get a chance to meet him?"
Hagrid frowned. "Doubt it. He's busy 'elping Dumbledore."
"Pity. What can you tell me about basilisks, then?"
As always Hagrid proved himself to be immeasurably useful. Why on Earth didn't everyone befriend the gentle man? He was very easy to get along with and much more, he was so very useful. Then again, it might prove to be a hinder should he catch wind of any of Harry's secrets—he seemed to somehow unknowingly give vital things away.
Oh well. He was still useful as far as Harry was concerned.
Now it was only a matter of—
"There you are, Harry," Draco said, moving up to walk alongside her. "I was looking for you. I need someone to practice Quidditch with."
"Now?" Harry asked incredulously.
"Now," Draco said.
"Oh alright," Harry sighed. "But, not for long, I do have plans."
"No, you don't."
"How would you know? What are you, some sort of mind reader?"
Draco gave her a cocky grin. "Maybe I am."
"Don't be ridiculous," Harry snorted. "Wizards can't read minds."
"Yes, they can. They're called Legilimens."
Harry froze. "What?"
Not only did she have to steal whatever was in the third corridor—she now had to learn Occlumency! Well, it was a good thing that Draco informed her of this now—could you imagine what would happen if someone performed Legilimency on Harry Potter—or, worse, Moratorium?
She shuddered to think of such a hassle.
Learning Occlumency would be a bit troublesome as she discovered there were few books in the library about it—and none that explained how to learn it. She supposed she could risk using Moratorium to… acquire a few books. Not too suspicious on either part, actually… yes… yes indeed…
But, for tonight she would be retrieving the stone. It was well past midnight and she moved through the school in the generous gift she had received for Christmas.
Whoever gave her the cloak was either the nicest fool, or the boldest rival. She couldn't quite decide—or really bother to—between the two.
She slipped into the room with Fluffy in it, waving her wand and casting an eerie sound from it.
Gentle, creepy, lullaby music drifted around the room and the dog was asleep in little to no time. She scanned the room for another doorway or such, finding a trapdoor.
Moving the paw of the great creature, she dropped down into the plants.
Harry instantly recognized the plants from her Herbology texts. Casting a fire spell, she burned them away before continuing on. The keys were rather simple and the chess was also easy. Whomever charmed the chess wasn't a very good player themselves.
Moving on, she read Snape's riddle and Stupefied the troll (not that it really needed to, it seemed to remember her quite clearly and was well cowed). Finally, she found the mirror and read the name carved onto it.
Ah yes, Hermione informed her about that mirror in one of her excited ramblings.
She eyed the mirror before imagining her desire in wanting to find the object. She didn't really care so much for using it or whatever. She just needed to find it. Frankly, she wasn't even sure if she would be retrieving the object on her first try.
She felt a lump in her pocket before producing a red stone. She frowned at it, not entirely having expected that to work. It didn't look particularly grand—certainly not a ruby or such, but who was she to dismiss it so easily? Perhaps it was some sort of stabilizer for a certain potion or it was a seal that held a vicious creature…
Harry shook her head, pocketing the stone. Well, it would do her no good now to think upon it. But… if it proved valuable…
She cocked her head. Perhaps she could make a mimic of it? She knew there was a spell that could provide a carbon copy of small items that worked in the same way leprechaun's gold did. If the stone was in fact a stabilizer, the copy would work as a stabilizer, then after time passed it would disappear.
And if this thing was so valuable, perhaps it would be better to… not risk it, yes? But first she would have to research what exactly it was…
The Philosopher's Stone was indeed deemed valuable and shipped off to the Potter Vault the next day after making a carbon copy that would last for three days.
The only thing left was to plant it upon the pedophile. And she already had a plan for such a feat.
"A prank?" Draco and Hermione repeated incredulously.
Harry gave her two favorite alliances a mischievous smile. "Indeed. I was hoping to pull a small prank on the pedophile while he was unaware, however I cannot do such a thing in the state he is in now. Hermione, dear, because you have more of a conscience than Draco and I, I will kindly ask you leave us be until the actual prank may be pulled."
Hermione quirked an eyebrow. "You aren't going to kill him, are you?"
"Then I suppose… but you better not break any more than two school rules. If you do, I will report you to our Head."
"Very well. Come Draco! Let us wreak havoc and mayhem upon the pedophile."
Draco gave a cocky grin, a glint in his eyes. "Easy enough."
Draco and Harry knelt behind a potted plant, watching as the pedophile maneuvered his way towards them. He was going to head down the stairs and that was when they would make their move. At the top of the stairs was a simple pebble. A simple pebble that would be The Key.
As he neared, Harry and Draco pulled out their wands and pointed towards the pebble.
Just as he was about to step over the pebble—
Harry swished her wand, transfiguring it into a stick and Draco muttered, "Wingardium Leviosa."
The pedophile did a spectacular tumble, hitting his forehead against the floor and slumping unconscious.
The two exchanged viscous grins and sped away to alert a teacher.
"You attacked a teacher!" Hermione shrieked.
"No. He tripped and fell down the stairs," Draco corrected.
"We just provided the opportunity," Harry said with a grin.
"I can't believe it—how could you?"
"He's not dead, just sleeping in the hospital bed. Now are you going to come with us to help, or are you going let us off on our own where we might do more damage?" Draco taunted.
Hermione glared at both of them. "Honestly! I can't leave the two of you alone, can I?"
"No," they chorused.
"By the way, is Ron still in detention?" Harry asked. "I was hoping we could kidnap him for help…"
The three students turned their heads to find Ron entering the Great Hall and sliding into a seat beside Harry. He frowned at them. "What?"
"We're going to prank the pedophile," Harry said.
"Cool. Can I come?"
Draco's nose crinkled. "Who would want a filthy blood traitor like you to come?"
Harry and Hermione rolled their eyes as Ron bristled. Boys.
"Look at the pot calling the kettle black!" Ron snapped.
"So," Harry said loudly. "Prank. Now. Let's go."
The four students crept into the dimly lit hospital wing, well past their curfews. After stepping on multiple toes and Harry deeming it safe, they pulled off the invisibility cloak.
"Oh, this is such a bad idea," Hermione whispered, a look of horror on her face. "Why did I come? Why didn't I just talk to a teacher…?"
"Because we're your friends," Ron said.
"And we would do more damage if you didn't come," Harry pointed out.
"Not to mention you know you wanted to," Draco added.
Hermione shot Draco a glare, but it didn't last long before dissolving into a nervous-yet-excited smile.
"Remember the plan?" Harry whispered.
The three other students nodded.
A simple plan, really. Ron and Draco would stage a fight right outside the curtains that were enclosed around the pedophile. Hermione would shriek and claim to tell a teacher and while those three were distracted, Harry would enact her 'prank'. She informed the others that she would merely be planting jelly legs on him among a few other things while he was distracted by Ron and Draco.
In actuality, she would slip the carbon copy of the stone near him. On the bed when he sat up or something of the like to see what was going on, then she would yell and claim he had stolen the same stone she had seen Hagrid extract from the vault.
No doubt one of her friends would rush off to inform a teacher—Draco or Hermione, she wasn't sure—and in that time she would taunt the pedophile into attacking her. It wouldn't be too hard as a.) he already wanted her dead and; b.) the teachers would be arriving soon and if he didn't leave he would be in quite the spot of trouble.
It was risky, which made it so interesting. There were countless other safer plans to dispose of him. Key word being safer.
To hell with safety.
Perhaps it was because she was doing it with her frien—alliances. Honestly, it would do her no good if she had emotional attachments to them. Ehem. Or perhaps she was just an adrenaline junkie and adored the thrill of risks. Either way, the plan would work out well in the end.
Harry slipped away from her friends, hugging the cloak tightly as she neared the pedophile. Draco and Ron began their argument and Hermione paused for a moment before presenting herself.
The pedophile moved in his bed before Harry could hear him sitting up. Pushing back the curtain, she froze, mouth agape.
He wasn't wearing his turban.
There was a face on the back of his head.
A heartbeat passed before Harry knew she had to abandon her current plan. She released her magic over the stone and threw off her cloak. The face immediately saw her as she wrenched the curtains away. The pedophile whirled his face to her, presenting the other face to Hermione and the others.
Ron and Draco paled.
"You brats!" hissed the pedophile.
"Shut up, pedophile!" Harry snarled. "Your damn fantasies have come to an end!"
The pedophile blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"The girl… The girl has touched the stone!"
An involuntary shudder ran through Harry at the voice. She stared at the face, incomprehension in her eyes until…
She gaped. "I know who you are… you're… you're…"
The face cackled. "Yes, child… it is I."
She knew the name. She knew it! But it was spoken so long ago and so rarely used, she couldn't recall it perfectly. She knew it though!
"You're Lord Voldewhore!"
"Correct, it is I, Lord—WHAT?!"
"It's You-Know-Who," Ron whispered fearfully, eyes wide.
"You'll pay for that, you brat! Servant—kill them! Kill them all!"
Draco gave a terrified scream along with Hermione, and Ron looked queasy. Only Harry stood her ground. It was her chance. If she could get rid of that fool then no one would question Moratorium's power—ever! She could rid herself of this potential rival and—
"Avada Kedavra!" the pedophile shrieked, pointing his wand towards Hermione.
Draco was faster. Whether he intended to, or he thought it was aimed towards him and was going for self-preservation (Harry would have guessed the second one), he jumped to the side, accidentally (or purposely, she really couldn't decide) knocking Hermione over with him.
The green bolt of light slammed against the door.
The DADA professor's face contorted with rage, but Harry also felt something akin.
She was furious.
Hermione was her friend. Hermione and Draco and Ron were her friends. They were under her protection and as such they were under Moratorium's protection.
Moratorium did not take well to the fact this fool dared attack someone under his protection. He was a vengeful thing and would not tolerate it. The fool would pay—with his life. Moratorium snarled at the idiot.
Harry's eyes narrowed into cold fury and she launched herself forward, her hand clenched into a fist. She slammed her fist against the contorted face, feeling a sort of sick satisfaction at the shriek of pain that came from it. White light poured from where she hit the once Dark Lord and the pedophile screamed in agony.
Moratorium and Harry realized together that their touch hurt their enemy. So they did the only sensible thing.
They threw themselves at the fool and began pounding away at them.
However, the rest of Harry's sentence was lost to the world, as she instead chose to let out a string of curses that would have even Draco blushing, just as the doors to the hospital wing flew open and all the professors—along with Dumbledore—barreled in.
Harry was panting with rage at how her victim gave way too easily. A sort of black vapor rose up from the body, the face still on it.
"You will pay for what you have done today, Harriet Potter!"
"GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE VOLDEWHORE!"Harry shrieked, grabbing the nearest thing—a pillow—and throwing it at the vapor.
Dumbledore's eyes widened and his face contorted with rage. "BEGONE FROM THIS PLACE, TOM RIDDLE!"
And the vapor was gone with a shriek of pain and the promise of revenge.
Harry was still breathing heavily before she shakily stood up.
She glowered at the spot the pedophile once was before she looked up at the bewildered—and some horrified—faces of the professors.
"I request a cup of hot chocolate," she said, her voice clipped.
Hermione huddled next to Harry. The girl was a little shaken from the ordeal, but she was otherwise okay. The two girls sat on a single bed, both sipping hot chocolate. Draco sat next to Hermione, and Ron next to Harry. All of them were under a single blanket as they patiently waited for their parents—well, not Harry's parents or guardians, of course—to arrive. Only when they did were they going to tell exactly what happened.
Not to mention Amelia Bones along with a few Aurors were coming—but they were already there so the students were only waiting for the parents.
When the parents arrived, Draco rushed from the bed and into the arms of a very beautiful young woman. Her eyes were wide with clear relief as she checked over her boy. A man, who Harry assumed to be Draco's father, even allowed a tight smile of relief as he examined his son.
Hermione's parents closely held their daughter on the bed—Harry and Ron moved. Ron was embraced by a frantic mother and a very relieved father.
Harry opted to sit next to the gentle elderly man by the name of Dumbledore.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" she whispered, trying her best not to draw the attention of others. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and he gave her a very warm smile, moving from his own spot on a separate bed. Harry sat down, frowning when she felt a brush of her mental shields.
Narcissa—Draco's mother—straightened her back and eyed each of the teachers before her eyes landed on Snape. Snape gave a small incline of his head and she nodded back.
"Would someone explain to me what happened?" she asked, holding Draco closely.
The four students exchanged looks before Draco opted to speak.
"We were going to pull a prank on the ped—Professor Quirrell."
"A prank?" Lucius—Draco's father—repeated, clearly in disdain.
Draco flushed and promptly averted his father's gaze. "Yes. He… we thought he tried to kill Harry… at the Quidditch game."
"And you didn't tell any of us?" McGonagall asked, clearly perplexed.
"How?" Ron asked, the frantic panic and fear he felt before leaving him snippy and snide. "What were we supposed to say? Hey, Professor! Even though we're only a bunch of kids, we're pretty sure one of your own colleagues—you know the weak and seemingly harmless one—tried to kill us! Mind if you get rid of him?"
McGonagall frowned at that, but did not question further.
"So we were hoping to just… you know," Ron trailed off.
"We came up here," Hermione picked up when no one else continued. "And… and we had a plan. Ron and Draco were going to fight and… and I was going to get a teacher… Harry was supposed to…"
"Jelly his legs, and stuff," Ron muttered.
"While he was distracted by Ron and me," Draco continued. "But then…"
"Then I saw he didn't have his turban on," Harry said. "And I saw there was a face on the back of his head. And I just… sort of… recognized him."
"You recognized the Dark Lord?" Bones asked sharply, frowning slightly as she eyed the child before her.
Harry shrugged helplessly. "His voice. I knew it. I don't really know how else to explain—my subconscious perhaps? But, I recognized it. And then he ordered the ped—professor—to kill us."
"He tried to fire a curse at me—Avada Kedavra," Hermione whispered. Her mother frowned and placed a gentle kiss on top of her head.
"Draco practically tackled her out of the way," Harry said.
Draco flushed. "I did not. I thought it was aiming at me, so I moved."
Ron snorted at this. "Same results in the end. Then Harry…"
"I got mad," Harry said. "So I punched Lord Voldewhore."
"Lord what?" Lucius hissed.
Harry frowned, blinking, and looked up at the mixture of faces—shock, horror, amusement and confusion (on Hermione's parents). "What? That's his name, isn't it?"
"It is Voldemort," Dumbledore clarified.
"I think I'll just stick to Voldewhore."
"Why?" Draco asked incredulously.
"Well, he is kind of a power slut, isn't he?" Harry asked.
The three students paused to consider this while the adults looked positively horrified, though a few looked amused. Amelia and her Aurors—Shacklebolt and Moody—along with Dumbledore looked very amused.
"You know… now that you think about it…" Ron mused.
"The Dark Slut," Harry said.
"The Slut-That-Must-Not-Be-Named," Draco said with a cocky grin.
"Draco," Lucius said sharply, considerably pale.
Draco's grin slipped, but anyone could clearly see his opinion didn't change.
"As you were saying, Miss Potter," Dumbledore said softly, smiling.
"Oh… yes… well, so after I punched him, he started burning. Light was coming out and he was in some serious pain. So I just… well, he just became my punching bag."
"You used… He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named… as a punching bag," Amelia said slowly.
"The Dark Slut, you mean," Harry clarified. "I was quite angry."
The adults exchanged looks around the room.
But Harry didn't mind. She won and none of the adults seemed upset by this. Not to mention she didn't feel anyone try her Occlumency Shields again.
All in all, she was content again.
Only when the entire drama of the professor finally died down did Harry deem it safe enough to continue her communication with Marwyn. He had, it seemed, found her the correct sort of people for the work required for the Owl Heist. As such, Harry would be relaying him instructions on exactly how to put them into use…
Hermione cleared her throat, pulling Harry away from her gleeful musings. The four students were currently sitting under a very nice shady spot in the very nice weather.
The three other students looked over to the bushy haired girl.
"Whether it was or wasn't intentional, I believe I owe you, Draco, a thank you."
Draco blinked in surprise before flushing. "You owe me no such thing! It was self-preservation, I tell you."
Ron and Harry exchanged looks.
"Why are you so adamant about not admitting that you saved a friend's life?" Ron asked incredulously.
"Because she's a mudblood!"
As soon as the words left his lips, Draco realized his mistake. Ron tensed and scowled furiously and Hermione blinked her watery eyes furiously. Only Harry remained unaffected.
"So?" Harry asked lazily. "Ron, relax. 'Mione, you shouldn't get upset over a silly word like that."
Ron shot Harry a disbelieving look along with Draco, and Hermione frowned.
"You should be proud," Harry said. "So what if you're not a pureblood? You're you and you shouldn't let some old word hurt you. I'm proud to say I'm half mudblood. Sounds a lot cooler than pureblood—that just sounds incestuous."
Draco flushed at the insinuation and Hermione gave a small smile.
"You're right. I am a mudblood but… but I don't care," Hermione said firmly. "I'm still a…"
"A bright young witch with a knack for spells," Harry said.
"A girl who's really nice with animals," Ron piped.
The three students glanced at Draco, who was still flushing. He cleared his throat. "Oh alright… and who's… okay with… potions."
Hermione smiled while Ron and Harry chortled.
Draco gave a definite 'harrumph!' before turning away and continuing on his homework.
Harry giggled with glee as she read the first batch of blackmail she had received from her Owl Heist idea. One more batch and she would have to end it—'less she draw too much attention too soon—but so far she had dirt on nearly all the purebloods in Britain—and a few in Germany and Russia.
Harry felt a beaming smile on her face. Marwyn was proving to be most useful and now that Moratorium had a firmer toe in the water, she felt it safe to begin the expansion. She would need to bring in more workers. The Matron at the brothel would be one.
The Matron would be useful, picking up all sorts of juicy information from the clients her girls (and a few boys) served. Another would have to be the bartender for Moratorium's bar, for the same reasons of wonderful information that idiotic drunks might let slip.
Yes, yes… she would set up a meeting with each of them over the summer and secure their loyalty. Perhaps offer them a higher percentage? Yes… that would do it. By then, she could cut the Owling business and have Marwyn… cut the loose ends.
It would do no good to have potential workers that could blab about how she obtained this information. No, no good at all.
Loose ends just simply had to be cut.
Harry dove down sharply, her broom obeying her will, as she hurtled herself toward the fast moving golden ball. It was the last game for the year and if she caught the snitch her House would win. Of course, she would catch it, she was the good golden girl. Couldn't have her reputation ruined. No, no...
The Ravenclaw's Seeker struggled to keep up with her on their school broom, but Harry's broom was faster. Harry twirled through the air, her arm outstretched and she leaned forward. Her fingers brushed against the snitch—
She grabbed it, a triumphant grin on her face as she held it up high for all to see.
"And Harry's caught the snitch—GRYFFINDOR WINS THE CUP!"
Her teammates howled with cheer around her as she landed, as did the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff bystanders that watched the display. McGonagall was positively beaming (and a bit smug) from her spot.
Oliver Wood was crying with tears of happiness as he picked Harry up and twirled her around. The fanatic Captain was babbling with joy and even Harry couldn't muster up the annoyance that usually came with him. Her face was already starting to hurt from grinning so wide.
It turned out to be a very nice year.
She thought of her exploits and Moratorium.
And next year would prove to be even better.
I do hope you enjoyed this story, and there is a very specific reason why the hat humored Harry in placing her in Gryffindor. Can you guess her 'obsession'? I did put hints of it in here, so I'm curious to see if you can.
Reviews are love!
Edit: You won't guess where this is going.
Unless you are rereading it, then you know your shit. :)