A Strange Old World Ch.21

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Chapter 21—Fall of the Ancient 

AN: My first chapter after the break...and it isn't beta'd! Well, a couple of povs are, though a couple aren't. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

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It was a dark day; cold and terrible; the sun hidden behind a curtain of black clouds. Powerful waves of the North Sea crashed against the stony beach; silent, save for the miserable howls of the gusting winds.

A crack of splintered air announced his coming, the robed man stepping forth upon the wet soil, feet bared against the black soil.

Around him stood his retinue, already present and waiting for their Lord, some standing upon jagged rocks, some kneeling upon the harsh ground.

But all, without exception, knew to bow low upon his arrival. For he was Lord Voldemort, and a perceived insult may well cost you your life.

The Dark Lord slowly stepped past his servants—pale feet landing softly against the sharp rocks—casting his gaze across the wild sea, where the decrepit walls of Azkaban stood high.

His eyes, orbs of chaotic blood-red, shone in dark amusement, a chilling smile twisting his ghostly pale face up. “At lassst...”

The words were mere whispers against the drowning winds—not meant to be heard by any—bringing with them the dark tidings about to maraud this country. A promise of death and destruction.

“Come…we have a grand day ahead.”

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It was time.

With a deep breath, Harry clicked the doors of the Minister's office open and saw himself out. His were the only steps clacking upon the tartan patterned marble floor—glinting golden and yellow—as he made his way through the silent and gloomy corridors of the Ministry Headquarters' first level.

The elevator was mostly empty, only a single guard present outside to cast the Revelio charming upon each entrant, looking bored out of his mind, slumped against the wall...

The man jerked up straight when Harry passed him, snapping out a quick Revelio and giving him a hasty bow. “Sir!”

There was a basin of shimmering liquid jutting out of the wall beside him. With cupped hands, Harry quickly took a hold of a fistful of liquid and splashed it upon his face, gaining access to the Elevator. Then, folding his sleeves, he drenched his arms under the basin as well, before turning to present them to the guard.

“Uh…yeah, clear sir.”

With a grunt and a parting wave at the man, he boarded inside, all alone as the doors closed and the platform started jerking downwards. With no passengers, it didn't stop at any floor, taking him straight from the office of Ministry on level 1 down to the Atrium on level 8, where the public was supposed to gather today.

The crowd's murmurings reached him in the elevator, well before his arrival at the destination. The Minister was speaking over the crowd; while usually her voice would’ve been enough to silence any crowd—their respect for her bringing them to heel—today was a different story altogether. Today the crowd wanted more.

Today…they wanted him.

Harry closed his eyes, the calming beats of his heart reassuring him of his course of action. He was about to do something that might—as Amelia suggested—blow up on their faces horribly. Should he fail, their reputation would be in tatters, their political might at the bottom, and Bones would end up becoming the least powerful British Minister of all time.

They would lose the war before it even started.

And it would all be his fault.

Harry snorted. ‘Nothing new.’

It was a testament to the amount of trust Amelia had come to place on his council in the recent days that she'd even entertained the idea, let alone give it a green flag... though he wouldn't deny some of that 'trust-building' had been quite pleasurable for the both of them.

Still, he knew just how important his purpose today was. Should he accomplish his mission, should they manage to overthrow the Wizengamot...it would be a huge victory against Voldemort. They'd be demolishing an entire corrupted part of the Ministry in one fell swoop.

And if, on top of this, Voldemort bites the trap...

No. That was too much to hope for. Incompetent wasn't something Harry would judge Tommy to be, not after he'd witnessed the serpent conquering the entire world with his own eyes before. He would have to assume this version was just as cunning and cautious. Chances were, the trap would be discovered from a mile away, though it would still be sufficient in at least distracting the Dark Lord away from here. He wanted no interference for today.

Whatever the case, today was bound to be their first step towards this war....and Harry hoped for success.

Even though he was just as prepared for failure.

The cool voice of the elevator announced his destination, and Harry submitted himself to the ministrations of the Security as soon as he stepped out.

Similar to level 1, first was the mandatory baptism from Thief's Downfall that each entree had to undergo; splashing their faces and arms with the liquid specially set aside for the purpose in a warded stone basin sticking out of the wall.

Each floor carried a basin that not only acted as a disguise-remover and Dark Mark revealer, but also as a switch, or pass, to grant access inside the Elevator.

Next was a group of expert casters whose job was not only to apprehend anyone revealed to be in disguise or carrying the Dark Mark, but also to cast an assortment of spells; determining the identity of the person, their job in the ministry, and keeping a track of them throughout the building.

Harry smiled slightly, feeling just a little proud. The current security—while not yet at the level of his vision—was still far better than what it used to be. He was thankful for Voldemort's slow and subtle approach in this war really. Had the Dark Lord hammered at them with brute force from the start, they wouldn't have gotten the time needed to make all these changes. As it was, they’d managed to act quickly and secure the Ministry from outside forces. Now it was simply time to clean up the inside.

Once the ritualistic checkup was completed, Harry was finally allowed to proceed ahead.

The moment he stepped out of the warded hallway and towards the whispering crowd however, a pandemoniac scene came to greet his eyes and ears.

The whispers were no longer mere whispers, surging up in intensity as if someone had turned a radio’s volume all the way from low to max.

A large podium was placed in front of the golden statue in the middle of the atrium, and in its front stood a sea of chattering heads, all divided in levels with the highest standing at the forefront, the lowest at the very back. They thronged every corner of the enormous hall, mobbing even the public elevator booths, effectively ending any chance for anyone else to enter today.

Though talking was all they did, for even they knew better than to act as a mischievous mob, what with their best Aurors currently standing guard at the borders. Should some hidden Death Eaters try to incite the crowd with panic or otherwise, this time Harry was absolutely certain they’d find themselves short a head before anyone could do more than scream ‘Avad—!’.

He might not trust anyone in the Ministry yet, but even he knew just how effective Moody can be when properly motivated.

Over the top of the noisy crowd rang the Minister’s amplified voice, delivering the finishing of her speech.

Harry didn’t pay it much attention, already knowing how the speech was supposed to go, having been directly involved in its planning. They’d decided that Amelia wouldn’t be the one dropping any bombs today. That was Harry’s job. Hers was simply to reassure the crowd that they were doing their very best in handling this sudden turn of events, as well as to introduce the changes taking place in the Ministry, from Dementors’ disbandment to ….and one of those changes also marked his own introduction, letting him know his time has arrived.

“And with that, I am pleased to announce our new head of Aurors…Harry Potter!”

The talking and whispering crowd suddenly quietened into a pin drop silence. Harry could once again hear the clacks of his shoes upon the wooden floor as he made his way up the stage and behind the podium, where the Minister stood waiting.

Flashes of cameras welcomed Harry as he revealed himself to the world. The moment his feet touch the dais, an ear-splitting cheer blasted across the atrium, intermixed with screams of 'Harry Potter!', 'The-Boy-Who-Lived!', ‘Will you kill You-Know-Who!?’, ‘Do you know where he is!?’, ‘Will you go to America to fight Grindelwald!?’

Harry ignored the chatter, eyes on Amelia who turned to address him, giving a handshake and whispering a quiet ‘Don’t screw this up’ before she vacated the stage.

Only then did he turn to the chaotic mass of heads currently chanting and hollering on top of their voices.

The English weren't the only Wizards gathered here today, Harry could see. There were foreign reporters buried between the jungles of heads; people from all around the world wanting a chance to see him with their own eyes, to hear the assurances their savior would hopefully give them...

And boy was he glad for their trust. He could only hope for the same reception when the day unleashed upon them a shower of surprises.

Harry stepped forth, raising his hands—palms out, as if to bless the crowd—asking for their silence.

Surprisingly, they all obliged. Even the quiet whispering that would normally be present in any crowd was absent right now, all the eyes—bursting with anticipation—stuck to his figure religiously.

Had he not known the zealous belief most of the wizarding world had come to place on him, he would’ve been rightly disconcerted by their trust. Even when he was validated about Voldemort’s return the last time, people had never come to hold him upon such a grand pedestal as they did now.

"Before the Red Hour,” Harry started straight to the core—his voice amplified—not bothering with any polite greetings. “You simply knew me as the brother of Jacob Potter, the one you considered The-Boy-Who-Lived. Some of you might recognize me as the latest European Champion. But for most of you, until recently, I was an unknown entity, a humble Hogwarts student most wouldn’t concern themselves with.”

The silence maintained its hold; stark and true.

His eyes scanned the room carefully, sustaining an image of a poised and confident leader as he spoke, the words carrying a solemn note of understanding. “Things have changed now. In the course of an evening, you have come to know me as the fated vanquisher of the two Dark Lords running at large around the globe as of now. You’ve come to place your trust in me, wishing, and hoping, that I may present to you an answer. An answer for the plague that has devastated an entire continent. A plague that threatens your lives and the lives of your families, now more than ever. You hope for me to be your savior…the one who will finally put an end to a decades-long threat. I'm afraid to say...I cannot do that."

As the words settled upon the crowd—for a brief moment—a deafening silence forced its dominance upon the Atrium, its nature changing from excited and anticipatory to dreading and uncertain. He could see the shift visibly, the widening of eyes, the sudden birth of uncertainty. The uncertainty breeding fear, fear rising anger.

And amongst the sea of faces, he saw the Weasleys and Tonks, standing along within the crowd, the same bewildered uncertainty and grim-visages wrecking their personages. He saw the Longbottoms; Alice’s wide-eyes a stark contrast to Frank’s grimacing frown. He wondered if Dumbledore himself might not be watching these proceedings, crouched up in some corner; hidden and mysterious.

Even his own family; his sisters and Lily, the Delacours and Bella….all stood stunned.

Had it not been such an important event, Harry would’ve taken an evil pleasure from the clueless sea of faces that blinked up at him in such bewilderment.

Unfortunately, he had a job to do.

And thus, just when the crowd started waking up from their stunned silence—on the verge of giving words to their uncertainty—he continued. "I cannot do that....without your help.”

Almost comically, the crowd grew relieved. ‘So just a political gesture’, their faces said. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

Well, they had plenty to worry about.

“The Dark Lords are not alone, you all know this. They have the strength of an army behind them; wizards who are just as evil and petty. Just as power hungry and dangerous. And no matter how much I may try…I am but one man.”

He spread his arms, bowing slightly to project humbleness and humility, though his eyes did not leave them for a second. “And as one man I can only do so much. Which is why I stand here, stuck upon a delicate choice. A most important decision that may change the face of the war for you…and for the entirety of Magical Britain.”

Now he bowed completely, head dipping down. Taking the chance to peer behind, he gave a subtle glance at the Minister, mouthing the next words, ‘It is time.’

When he straightened up again, he had to force his excitement behind determination and heroisms to remeet the crowds’ eyes. “And I ask you, people of Britain, to help me in this most difficult endeavor. For I present to you…the dishonorable members of our Wizengamot!”

‘It is time.’

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The sea stirred calmly beneath the twelve brooms that tore through the air, scaling the width of the North Sea in a fixed spear formation. Tails of their black robes trailed behind like wild kites, each moving over a hundred miles per hour.

The one heading the spear carried no broom. He did not need one.

After all, what use was a broom, when you commanded the air itself?

Vaporous black smoke slithered through the skies, making up for a large part of his body. The only thing visible within the mixture of shadow and smoke was his head. Hairless and sharp, paler than moon, and with two malevolent crimson gems for eyes, Lord Voldemort might as well be devil incarnate as he flew across the ocean unassisted, his body nothing but a bundle of dark mist.

The Air element was firmly beneath his command; an entire section of his mind having been compartmentalized for this sole purpose, Occlumency keeping it prepared to summon the element at all times.

It was a long way to the walls of Azkaban however, and the Dark Lord found the rest of his mind to be...unusually distracted.

Or perhaps, not so unusual as of late.

It had all started around the month of July, when he'd still been stuck inside that wretched body of an infant. Pain, unlike any, had suddenly split his head apart like a fissured ground. He hadn't known then what happened, having theorized it to be one of the curses of inhabiting a weak mortal body.

Over the course of a few months since then however, he found his mind being more and more... disarrayed. The shackled weakling inhabiting the tiniest corner of his mind-castle had managed to put up a slight bit of resistance for the first time since its imprisonment.

That single incident had made the Dark Lord more alarmed than anything Dumbledore could hope to achieve.

It was a testament to the fear he inspired amongst his servants that no one questioned his distracted mind. Even when he'd given in to his childish urge of suckling upon some milk in the blatant view of his Death Eaters. None had dared to question him.

Yet, Voldemort wasn't willing to tolerate such an existence. Afraid of his own mind; ever cautious, ever paranoid.

No, that certainly won't do. Thankfully he already had an idea of the cause behind it.

Harry Potter.

That day, which marked his resurrection, had brought with it a startling realization. When his eyes had fallen upon those grim emerald green eyes, shining with barely restrained hatred...he knew he'd found the culprit. His mind had begun throbbing like a beating heart, and only an actively focused attention to his occluded mind had managed to control that pain.

Harry Potter....the bane of his peaceful world domination plans. And the source of his misery.

Voldemort couldn't wait to end the blight upon the world that the boy was.

Hopefully that time shall come soon. In the very next year, if all went according to his plans.

"M-my Lord!?' Came the hesitant call from behind him, barely making its way through the wild wings to reach his ears. "S-should we fly lower!?"

Only then did Voldemort focus back upon what his eyes were witnessing, taking in the gigantic towers of Azkaban, its powerful wards coming clear to his senses.

His retinue, too afraid to speak up, waited for him to take command, even as they grew closer to bypassing the prison altogether.

Voldemort’s lips curled in a sneer as he guided his flight path downwards. 'Useless cretins.'

It was a shame that his truly useful servants were rather busy with their Ministerial duties today—having been tasked to avoid suspicions and keep an eye on today’s proceedings—for his current company left much to be desired. All novices and new recruits, wanting to follow upon the footsteps of their parents.

The first batch of recruits who thought too highly of themselves; the young, self-proclaimed evil doers who believed they would find their purpose in life serving under him.

Voldemort was none too happy to introduce them to their new way of life. That job belonged to one of his inner circle members.

Still, it was an important task that cannot be skipped. They may just prove to be the best of their generation—All pure-bloods and decently powerful—and that knowledge would work in increasing their overconfidence.

The Dark Lord cannot let that happen. They were all potential members of his inner circle, and a single field of bad crops could ruin an entire section of his army.

The prison’s walls grew closer and Voldemort dismissed them from his mind. This was an important day him; bringing in a task worthy of his attention. For only he was capable of breaking through Azkaban’s wards. More pivotal though was the fact that only he was capable of bringing to heel the hungry Dementors.

Voldemort led his servants onwards, coming to a gliding halt a dozen feet or so away from the decaying main gates of Azkaban. The sprogs landed upon the ground, stowing their brooms away as had been instructed.

They were in the Azkaban graveyard; crammed to the brim with bodies of dead prisoners. Voldemort caught the whiff of Death Element wafting from the lands, smelling it like a mockery of his failure.

‘How could you ever hope to wield us, Vol-de-mort?’ He could almost hear the sneer behind the element’s mocking. ‘You who are so afraid of Death, to name yourself its flight. How long can you possibly run from that which is eternal?’

Before rage can overtake his being, the Dark Lord shut off a part of his mind completely—the part that had failed in wielding what he considered the most powerful of elements—forcing himself to focus ahead.

The Dementors were already aware of their arrival, it would seem. For over two dozen of them hovered in midair—just like him—behind the gate, waiting patiently.

Voldemort cast his gaze beyond them, upon the lifeless lands that awaited their entry. Silent and gloom…and utterly, utterly abandoned. Almost like it were welcoming his presence, gifting him back his most loyal servants; those who braved through Azkaban for him.

But the Dark Lord wasn’t convinced.

Even distracted as he was, he still had enough presence of mind to wonder if this could all be a trap. Perhaps an ambush set up for him and his servants. From the little news that he’d kept up on, Bones did not seem the kind to place her entire trust upon Dementors. She was alive in the last war, he knew. Alive to witness the true nature of these creatures. She would make for a truly pathetic Minister—especially in these times—if she’d forgotten about it already.

And yet, as he accessed the third compartment of his mind—reserved solely to channel Soul element—casting his spirit searching gaze across the entire Island…he couldn’t find a single soul present, save for the damaged ones of the prisoners. While there were a few ghosts in the deeper parts of Azkaban, where no one ever ventured, Voldemort had long theorized them to be the tortured souls of Ekrizdis’ victims.

He didn’t bother extending his magical senses. The entire island was so saturated with magic, it would be similar to sensing water in the ocean.

Of course, there were also parts of the fortress that even his senses cannot penetrate through. Yet, the chances of anyone succeeding where he failed were less than nil.

He could only conclude that the foolish Potter boy had truly managed to convince Bones into abandoning Azkaban in the hands of Dementors somehow. Then again, it was entirely possible that they may simply not have enough enforcement to guard the prison. And surely they couldn’t expect Lord Voldemort to work so quickly…it had barely been over a week and a half since his resurrection.

Whatever the case, he shall accept the Ministry’s kind generosity with open palms. It was time to free his most loyal servants….and gain an army of deathly fiends on top.

The Dark Lord closed his serpentine eyes, his occluded mind strengthening his will—preparing his power—as he raised his bone-white wand to the sky, aiming high towards the peak of the fortress. Then the crimson gems opened anew and Lord Voldemort unleashed his might upon Azkaban in the form of a crackling white beam, rendering its defenses moot with a single, powerful attack.

“Go.” Smiling, he waved his stunned servants away. “Bring back our friends to safety. I shall handle the creatures.”

They were hesitant, and understandably so. No one sane would wish to traverse through the haunted lands of Azkaban. But between certain death and potential soul-sucking, most would choose the latter. And Voldemort was sure that the cowardly cretins could see nothing but their deaths in his eyes should they tarry any longer. Something they were completely correct about.

It was a good thing they heeded the command with barely a squeak.

The Dementors let them pass, the leader of their hive simply tilting its head at them, the dark shadows—that made up his cowl—gently swaying along. However, that subtle motion was enough to startle half the group, evoking a combined jump forward to escape the soul-sucking fiends’ reach…

The Dark Lord sighed, feeling a rare moment of empathy for his Mark bearers’ complaints.

Hopefully the next batch will be better than this…

He doubted it.

Soon as the worthless recruits were out of sight, the Dementors as one glided around Voldemort, surrounding his entire front.

But the Dark Lord stood smiling, unconcerned and unafraid as his naked feet came down to touch the corrupted lands of the island. If there was someone that could truly threaten Voldemort, it would be the Dementors. The creatures could damage his soul itself, and he did not have a Patronus’ protection—being unable to cast it as he was.

Yet, he remained smiling. For he had something most wizards won’t: the ability to harm a Dementor.

“You all remember me still, yes?” Voldemort smirked, the red in his eyes glowing stronger. “I am Lord Voldemort, your one true benefactor. I have returned from a...very long sleep. And it is time you join me again. For only I can provide you a feast grander than anything you’ve ever witnessed. My intention to conquer the world still lives…and you may have your—“

Voldemort stilled, growing silent. His eyes flickered behind his audience, where his servants had disappeared, feeling a disturbance in the air.

The Dementors grew restless themselves, approaching closer, but his attention was elsewhere…

In the end it was his magical senses that warned him ahead of time, picking up on the explosive aura that rose up in intensity like a volcano about to burst…

‘A trap.’ He realized, stunned. ‘A trap.’

“No!” Voldemort roared out, eyes widening in fury, magic already manipulating the air to take flight,

He blasted through the gates of Azkaban, hoping to save at least the more important ones…

Yet, he was too late.

The rising magic burst out in an explosion so powerful that the Dark Lord had to cut off his magical sensing to avoid being stunned from its intense glare—almost like witnessing the sun with bared eyes in late afternoon.

Yet, his senses were the least of his concern. The inferno blasted the fortress apart and the next moment his entire world was drenched under a raging volcano of fire, with only a mundane Protego shielding him from the thirsty flames, giving him the time to concentrate and escape from the apocalyptic scene with a crack of air—having felled the Disapparition wards earlier—leaving behind only a wrathful wail, and some of the most loyal servants of his army, all soon drowning under the powerful flames.

And thus fell the walls of Azkaban—the decrepit fortress unable to survive the damage without its ancient magic—taking with it all its unfortunate inhabitants.

…Except the now homeless Dementors, who were free to roam the earth, ready to taste their newfound freedom.

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It was truly a sight to witness, the way the crowd’s widened eyes took in the shackled forms of a few very well-known Wizengamot members.

Four in total, they were still dressed in the plum-colored Wizengamot robes, wearing their little maroon hats proudly. They struggled in the air, their mouths screaming silent protests, eyes wild and disconcerted.

The Aurors did their job as had been tasked, dropping the levitating bodies down in a pile of arms and legs, evoking a combined groan of complaints as the sound suppressing charms were finally lifted off of them.

“What…what is the meaning of this!?” Thundered a furious Avery from the ground, trying to push himself up, his voice slowly rising in intensity. “I was told you wished to have an audience with us, Potter! How dare—umph!?”

“Silence, please.” Harry cut him off with a swipe of his hand, taking inspiration from Scrimgeour by concealing the wand under his sleeve to perform fake Wandless casting.

It may not have worked well on himself but he knew the trick would impress the crowd.

Besides Avery, the other three figures beneath him belonged to Umbridge; the Infuriating Toad, Rowle the Stupid, and of course…the ever helpful Corban Yaxley.

Out of them all, Umbridge was a special kind of filth. An innocent kind of filth. She hadn’t defected to Voldemort yet, but it wasn’t difficult for Harry to stun the fat toad and tattoo a fake Mark upon her forearm…though this was done without the Minister’s knowledge or permission. He’d spent a few hours observing the woman, simply to see if this version might not be as disgusting as her previous self…thankfully, he was proven wrong.

She was just as despicable as Harry knew her to be. And thus he decided to make good use of her, before she could even think of becoming a pain in his arse.

These four weren’t the only bad apples in the Wizengamot of course, but the rest of Tommy’s merry band had yet to show their faces in the Ministry since the day of his appointment…which was less than a week ago.

Especially the Lord and Ladies of ancient houses who’d sworn their allegiance to Voldy; they all held a seat in Wizengamot reserved for themselves.

Still, for his purpose, four would do just fine.

He turned back to his audience, all standing with bated breaths. “As I just told you, these three fine gentlemen—and a lady—are all members of the Wizengamot , our most ancient and respected high court of law and parliament. They stand before you today, shackled and dishonored, for having participated in the most heinous of crimes.”

His wand still hidden, he waved at the four.

“For having concerted with the enemy.”

The crowd let out a fearful gasp as all four had their arms involuntarily dragged up in the air, their sleeves cut away.

Four black skulls were revealed to the eyes of all present—tattooed along their inner forearm—with a snake protruding out of its dark mouth.

Even now, over a decade since the last war, the Dark Mark alone seemed enough to inspire fear in the people of England.

And Harry was glad to play upon it.

“Indeed!” Harry splayed his arms dramatically, his voice thundering over the crowd’s whisperings. “We have four Death Eaters in our midst! Hiding under the cover of the Ministry all this while, waiting for their master to arise!”

“He is lying!” Umbridge croaked out suddenly, a desperate hitch in her voice. “I would neve—!”

A swing of his hand quietened her.

“How can we defeat the enemy, when those sworn to protest us are rotten to the core!? Sabotaged from the inside, how could there be any hope of victory!? With corruption so rampant, was it truly a surprise how easily Grindelwald tore through us that day?”

The crowd didn’t answer him. Silent, eyes wide and furious, they took in the scene their savior presented with no doubts about its validity. He was sure they wouldn’t have been as susceptible to this had he been forced to convince them individually. But for some reason, being in a crowd seemed to automatically shut down any critical thinking in the magical minds.

And for the first time, Harry was quite grateful for it.

“No.” He answered in their stead, his voice now soft and foreboding, making the crowd hang onto his every word—almost leaning forward where they stood. “No, we cannot win this war. I cannot be your savior. And the Dark Lords cannot be defeated.”

Slowly—as if to maintain the hold of silence upon the hall—Harry left the podium in a sure saunter, approaching the prisoners.

“Not until we have people like these.”

Four sets of enraged eyes met him, all wishing vile ends to his life. But Harry could see past it…the fear hidden beneath their depths. They knew something big was happening, and they knew they were fucked.

Harry had to suppress a smirk, not wishing to seem like a psychotic bastard in the middle of this beautifully crafted performance. The image he was carefully creating for the public will have to be maintained…at least until he was inside the walls of Hogwarts, that is.

“If we are to have any chance in this war…” Harry continued, the enchanted crowd lapping up his words like thirsty travelers. “We must first purge our enemies. We must cleanse our core, from the inside. Would you not agree with me?”

For a moment he feared the silence would maintain its hold upon the mob of wizards and witches. Just for a moment, the fear of failure tugged up his throat like a knot…

And then a voice roared from the middle of the horde. ‘Kill them! Kill all of them!’

Harry’s eyebrows rose up slightly. ‘Well…not the words of support I was looking for, but that’ll do for a start as well.’

But his expectations were completely demolished when the lone voice suddenly gained support. The calls for their deaths started filling up the hall, until over a thousand people were chanting for the expiry of now revealed Death Eaters.

‘No mercy this time!’, ‘Kill them all!’, ‘Slaughter the Death Eaters!’ were some of the tamer calls that the crowd picked up; all hollering for actions that Harry had never imagined to hear. Even some of the press members had joined in on the fun.

‘Where did they get the balls for this?’

It truly was a surprising sight. Harry had come here expecting to meet a meek and fearful crowd who would need to be convinced of the necessity behind his actions.

But no. These wizards and witches…they hungered for action. They hollered for blood. He wondered if it was simply due to the differences in this world…

‘No.’ It clicked in his mind then.

It would seem the last war had affected them worse than Harry had imagined. The way Bella had described those times, his world’s suffering seemed relatively tame compared to what these people had gone through.

It was the pain of times better-left-forgotten that powered their anger…

And it worked just fine for his purpose today.

Holding up his hand for silence again, his amplified voice boomed over the rowdy mob, bringing them to heel. “I understand all of you. Too long have you lived in terror under these masked thugs. The Death Eaters and the Alliance…they are all equally guilty. But killing a couple of them will not solve the problem.

“Which is why, on this day,” He met the eyes of all magicals present, a finger jabbing down to lend gravity to his words. “With the Minister’s permission, I declare Wizengamot's permanent dissolution. This country does not need them anymore. You may all rest assured, Voldemort...and Grindelwald, will not roam these lands for long. We fought them once, defeated them once...we can do it again. And this time properly...so they may never threaten us ever again. Trust in us, the war will be over before you know it. Your ministry stands strong, and with your support, we shall be stronger still.”

And with a last nod, Harry turned around and exited the stage, giving no words of farewell either.

The stentorian roar that erupted behind him filled the Atrium with its thunder; determined, powerful, ferocious, and so filled with hope and vigor….

It was everything Harry had hoped to achieve on this day and more.

Only when he reached the Minister did a small smirk finally break upon his face. “I’ve done my job, dear Minister. You are now the sole dictator of this country. Congrats.”

Amelia’s eyebrows twitched, though she simply couldn’t hold back her own grin of victory. “I doubt that, with you bugging me every night. Now get out of here…unless you wish to be mobbed down by your adoring fans?”

Harry suppressed a shudder. “I’m gone before you turn your back. Be sure to force the media to our narrative alright? The public should take Azkaban’s destruction as a good thing for us.”

Amelia snorted. “I’ve been doing this for years, Harry. You go and do your school shopping. I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to return to Hogwarts.”

“Believe it or not, I actually am.”

With one last nod of farewell to the Minister, Harry quickly made his way back to the reserved elevator, leaving behind a roaring crowd chanting his name.

His job was done. And now it was time to wait and reap the rewards…

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31st Agusut, 1994

The Daily Prophet laid sprawled upon the long ornate table of Black Manor, two main headlines prominent upon the first page.

The first read one read: 'The-Boy-Who-Lived dissolves Wizengamot! Who is the real power behind the Ministry of Magical Britain?'

The moving picture below it depicted the determined figure of Harry Potter shining with power and righteousness as he condemned the four figures lying at his feet.

But while this headline was enough to sour the mood of all present in the room—if only at its shocking nature—it was the second headline that truly summoned the wrath of Lord Voldemort.

'Azkaban falls! Terrible blow to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!'

The image in the newspaper showed desecrated bodies of the prisoners buried under the rubble of destroyed walls and concrete.

All of them were fallen Death Eaters.

Voldemort seethed, a sudden gust of fire suddenly scorching up the newspaper, startling all the robed figures present.

"How many?" The Dark Lord snarled to his left.

"My Lord..." Snape hesitated.

"How many, Severusss!?" Voldemort hissed.

"The deaths have been.... substantial, my lord. Discounting the new recruits, we've taken heavy losses amongst the Mark bearers... Dolohov, Rookwood, the Lestrange brothers, Travers, and Mulciber...they are all missing, presumably dead."

Voldemort closed his eyes—the vestiges of rage disappearing away as suddenly as it had come—looking for all purposes as calm and collected as ever. "It seems I have been....lax, as of late."

He opened his eyes, the crimson now bursting with a malevolent humour. "No matter, no matter. We all make mistakes. I've simply made mine....by trusting pathetically useless creatures like you."

Slowly, like a wraith, he pushed himself to his feet, dark robes flowing down like graceful waterfalls. His steps were softer than feather, every action subtle and calculated. "It is a shame I cannot thank Yaxley personally, for bringing me such... astonishing wisdom."

Slower still, he circled the table, red gems boring into each one present. "But now I have learned. I shall not make the same mistake again. To put my trust on your worthless selves is the height of folly."

Almost absently, his hand raised up to slowly caress a lock of blonde hair. "No...It is time I steer you personally. It is time I take a more...active approach to this war. For it is now clear that I cannot win it by depending on you."

Malfoy gave a suppressed squeak, specks of his own spit trickling down his chin as he struggled to control a cry.

But the Dark Lord wasn't looking, his eyes trailing past all, to focus on his most competent Death Eater. "Sirius, I require your services. Consider yourself promoted. You shall now be my herald."

The dog-turned-wizard bowed, a wide smile plastered on his face.

“As for you, Severus…”

Calm black eyes frowned at his master. "My Lord?"

"I shall reveal myself to our adoring public soon. And you, my sly friend, must arrange an event for my words to reach every corner of this wretched country. It is time for our youths to make the most important decision of their life. A choice; between chasing power, or being too weak to seek it."

The disloyal servant bowed. "As you will it, my Lord."

"The rest of you will hasten our plans ahead. Sirius, make contact with the giants and werewolves immediately. Take Lucius and Wormtail along with you. Should you need, you may have your selection from the new lambs.”

The Dark Lord came to stand back at the fore. “Our new goal, my useless Death Eaters, is to conquer this continent. Europe shall be mine, just as America belongs to Grindelwald. Only then can I contend with the old man. Perhaps I might even acquire some truly competent soldiers."

The red orbs then fell upon the dregs of burnt paper on the table, the only thing visible being the picture of a smiling Harry Potter, flashes of Camera giving him a heroic and victorious look.

A sneer curved up on the Dark Lord's lifeless lips. 'You're more interesting than I'd thought, Potter. But no matter...my victory shall taste all the more sweeter when your power fails you. And when I finally kill you, the only thing upon your face....shall be despair.'

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While the Dark Lord seethed alone, the rest of the world gossiped over the actions of their hero. No one had problems believing that Wizengamot might be chock-full of Death Eaters.

The parliament, after all, had always been a high class entity that saw themselves above the common rabble. Made up of the Lord and Ladies of the Ancient houses, it was no wonder people took joy in their misfortune.

But above all, it was believable simply because people wanted to believe in it. They wanted to believe in their Savior, wishing to put their trust in his actions. They wanted to feel safe and secure, knowing the Ministry was doing something. Has done something. Something substantial enough to wash away the distrust their recent failure had evoked in its people.

Making The-Boy-Who-Lived their war leader simply gave their zealous belief an official green pass. It meant that even the Ministry was willing to place their trust upon a 14 year old, completely validating their faith.

The fact that he’d managed to deliver a deadly blow to the Dark Lord simply strengthened it more.

The only ones who truly thought past the craze of their Messiah were the ones who had a deeper insight into the implications of a non-Wizengamot government.

And the Order of the Phoenix wasn't willing to sit quietly in the background

Wizengamot was the highest tribunal of the Ministry. With a single announcement, Harry Potter had changed the entire structure of the British ministry of magic, robbing the Chief Warlock of all his power, rendering their parliament moot, and making Amelia Bones a dictator with no opposition.

It may have lessened the risk of corruption, but it also made felling the Ministry all the more easier.

And that, more than anything, made Albus Dumbledore truly worried.

The current form of government placed uncontested power in the hands of a single person. Something he would never have let take place had he known about it. The worst thing was his inability to publicly criticize such actions. His failure at defending the country from Grindelwald meant the public opinion on him was at an all time low, and any word against Harry Potter would simply make it worse.

But more importantly perhaps…Dumbledore simply did not wish to oppose Harry Potter.

'If only the boy would deign to give me the time of day...this could all be so much easier.'

A shame he would have to content himself in waiting until the start of the term.

Then again, he wouldn't have come so far had he not contained enough patience to wait for one more day.

…Well, that would’ve been true had the Ministry not dropped another, even bigger, bomb upon the Wizarding Britain.

An event that he couldn't wait for a single day to unearth.

Azkaban's downfall.

Albus Dumbledore shared the crowd’s disbelief when the news was first shared. Yet, he didn’t share their awe.

In fact, he had taken a personal trip to the prison, just to confirm the news.  It had been a truly incredible sight; to see the daunting, grim fortress having become a pile of rubble and ash. The explosion that destroyed the prison was said to have been visible from miles away, its smoke—black as the magic that bled inside the fortress—having touched the skies itself.

There was a lot Albus Dumbledore did not know in this war, but he knew one thing for certain. He was no longer alone in this war, and it was no longer the Order vs Dark Lords.

A new player has entered this game, and Dumbledore believed him to hold the fate of Wizarding World within his fist. His choice; to preserve the world...or raze it down.

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31st of August marked the last day before Hogwarts.

It was a good day; bright and warm, not meant for grim topics. Unfortunately, that was rather hard to avoid nowadays, especially when your life depended on it.

There was an urgency in the air that wasn't present before. Yes, they'd always known the war was on the horizon. Yes, they knew it would herald the coming of a darker age. Yet, even knowing all this, it was only the previous day's events that truly made the gravity of their situation set in. Almost like it made the war that much more real.

Though perhaps blowing up the Azkaban was a bad way to start it, Harry admitted absently. Especially—as it would seem—if one didn't inform their family about it until it was too late...

"I want all of you to have one of these." Lily Potter commanded, brooking no arguments as she distributed a black square-shaped card to everyone. "You will carry it with you at all times. Even in your bathrooms or...whichever room you find yourself in."

With seven witches and one wizard, all the inhabitants of Potter Manor were currently present together at the dining table for the very first time. Usually the missing one would be the lone wizard who now sat at the head of the table—as was the right of a Lord.

Though if you were to ask him, he wouldn't say he felt quite as Lordly as one would've expected.

Receiving cold shoulders from your loved ones always stings. Even if you know the fault is yours. Especially then, actually.

Suddenly an idea popped in his mind.

"You know....what if we made an identification card for everyone?" Harry stated musingly. “Every wizard and witch will have to go through a proper scan to receive one. It could act like a muggle telephone too. Anyone can contact the Ministry if they see even a hint of—

"Not now, Harry!" Bella snapped suddenly, speaking her first words to him that day. Her sniff of contempt was all that Harry needed to know where they stood currently. "Besides, I'm sure you can discuss it with your dear little Minister when you're shut inside her office."

He could literally feel the second death glare joining Bella's. Hard not to really, when you're seated right between their owners.

And neither Lily nor Bella were willing to take his actions in stride this time.

Harry massaged his forehead, sighing. "How can you still be annoyed about that, woman? I told you I didn't want to place more stress on your shoulders."

"And since when did you get to decide that?" Bella narrowed her eyes.

"Since when—?" Harry raised his brows, annoyed. "Since I saw you being too busy keeping the sudden inflation of Dark Wizards down. On top of handling the Aurors and Hit-wizard recruitment. On top of working on the aftermath of Red Hour. On top of...well, basically running the country. Do you really want to do even more?"

Alright, he was willing to admit that he’d been neglecting his family for the past few days. But it wasn't like he'd done it on purpose! Honestly, the amount of things he'd managed to accomplish in the last week or so was worthy of an award

Not a bloody death glare!

Beside him, Bella sighed—deflating slightly—her hand slowly coming to pat his shoulder. "You could've at least told us about the Wizengamot, Harry. I would've liked to know."

"As would I have." Lily nodded from his left.

"And me." Fleur chimed in from beside her.

"And did you not even think about asking for our help with Azkaban?" Bella continued. "You do realize you're in the presence of the most brilliant witch of this century, right? I'm sure Lily could've done a much better job than whoever you employed."

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly.

It wasn't that he didn't think about it...it was simply that he hadn't wished for them to get involved.

Not due to some misplaced sense of superiority of course. He knew perfectly well that both of them were more skilled with a wand than him.

The problem was, he simply didn't wish them to know how...lax, his morals truly were. Considering he'd obliviated all the Ministry experts after they'd done their job, he doubted he'd have cut the heroic figure that he presented himself as.

But would they have even cared?

He was almost certain they wouldn't have, yet the tiniest part of his mind couldn't help but ask....'But what if they did?'

Still, it wasn't time to let out his insecurities yet, so Harry dealt with the current situation like he'd been doing till now.

By playing it off.

"I'm all alone in this house, aren't I?" Harry shook his head 'morosely'. "Poor me, stuck with a group of nasty witches out for my blood. Whatever shall I do?"

Bella and Lily glared at him.

Thankfully, his rescue came in the form of a beautiful blonde Veela.

"Oh, leave off of him, all of you." Apolline laughed, collecting the empty plates on their table. "I'm sure he understands perfectly well now."

She’d been told off from doing it multiple times—with one particularly hilarious incident involving her being scolded by a House Elf—but apparently it was one of the few habits that she did not wish to drop. And Harry wasn't willing to keep arguing.

"Thank you!" He dipped his head towards the gorgeous Veela. "At least someone in this house is on my side."

"... Though I must admit being informed ahead of time would've been better..."

"Well, never mind then."

Unheeding, she continued. "—It took us quite a while to escape your fans, you know? Everyone wished to know all they could about their hero."

Harry coughed, scratching his chin. "Well, I can't be blamed for that surely....but I'll keep that in mind the next I do a public stunt."

Eager to change the subject—especially when his senses started tingling, predicting another argument about Azkaban and his recklessness—Harry turned to Fleur. "What will you be doing about your school?"

Fleur sighed. "Sadly, we have to leave for Beauxbaton soon."

For some reason, that gave a bitter twist to Harry's insides.

Apart from their first day, he'd barely gotten a chance to know this version of Fleur. The hug she'd given him that day was still a recurring dream in his mind.

Honestly, he almost couldn't decide if the Triwizard tournament was a bucketload of rubbish—as he'd originally believed—or the best thing to happen this time.

It was a good thing that he didn't have the power to just reject the entire setup in the last moment—or he'd have fallen in a pit of grave conflict surely—even though Wizengamot was now over, and they were unquestionably the highest authority around, the other schools—including Ilvermorny—had already agreed to it. And thanks to Crouch's efforts, the entire world's attention was on them now. Backing away would do more harm than good at this point.

"We tried to convince the Headmistress to let her simply join the Beauxbaton team when they arrive at Hogwarts, but up to no success unfortunately." Apolline informed, coming back to sit with them. "She was rather incessant on Fleur's return." 

"That's so stupid." Surprisingly, the objection came from his elder sister. "She'll be coming back anyway, why even make the extra trip?"

As the conversation lightened up on the table, Harry leaned back, his eyes taking in all the women present.

'I'm a lucky man.' He concluded with a smile, though his eyes couldn’t help but grow complicated when they fell upon Lily.

Harry still remembered the explanation that Void-Lily had given him that day. Not very clearly of course, being busy as he was pumping inside the stunning redhead.

Apparently, Elemental magic was much more dangerous than he'd previously perceived. To channel a specific element, a person must force their emotions in a particular direction. For basic elements like fire and water, the emotions needed were often simple; rage and tranquility making up for the most common ones.

But for the more complex elements...the requirement became more vague and stringent.

The Void, for instance, can only be touched at your lowest. When everything you had feels lost, when all your worldly possessions turn to nothingness, when there is nothing left for you to lose...except your deepest, most powerful desire. The sole thing that could motivate you to survive the nothingness.

Only when you survive that, only when you accept your emptiness, can you call upon the Void.

Lily was simply what could happen to someone should they unknowingly unleash the element, yet find themselves unable to master it.

She'd touched the Void long ago, called upon it on her deathbed in St. Mungos.

Yet, she couldn't master it. She couldn't accept losing everything that she held dear, the mere idea sent her into panic.

Unfortunately, in magics this ancient, there are consequences of failure. For she may have called for the Void, but she did not have the power to send it back.

She'd touched upon the Void and found herself unworthy of wielding it. So, the Void decided to wield her instead

And so it held onto her, waiting and needling; the perfect opportunity to prey upon a weak mind….

It wasn’t as bad as Harry had imagined at first. Void wasn’t some alive being who could possess people…

No, Harry theorized it to be a concept given form. A universal concept either existing beyond time and space, or brought alive through magic.

Either way, it was a concept that he, and Lily herself, knew very little about.

The fact remained, now instead of having to force her mind into a particular direction to summon the element, the Void forcefully shaped her mentality whenever it materialized itself within Lily—granting her access to powers she now wished she'd never touched.

It wasn’t like Lily was helpless. From what she’d told him, it sounded like she still had the chance to master the element. But it was simply too difficult.

For even now, Lily was too afraid of the truth. Too afraid to survive the nothingness, too afraid to accept the desire that may enable her to do so.

Too afraid of how she’d been corrupted.

Her zealous love to protect the one fated to die under the hands of a Dark Lord; the one she'd sworn to protect with all her being, to love with all her heart, and stand against the most powerful of prophecies...even death, should it try to take him away from her.

That love had been corrupted in the last few months.

…She didn’t know if it was the Void that did it, or herself whot fell. But her love had now birthed lust that she simply couldn't accept.

Honestly, the whole thing made Harry’s brain spin like a top. Even now he didn’t know if he actually understood everything or if he was simply forcing his mind to think he had understood.

He needed more information before he could go about helping Lily in any way other than satisfying her…hmm, needs.

And on top of all this conundrum, there were still so many things he had to cover.

‘Merlin, I still need to tell them about my past. Fuck.’

Harry knew he was stalling on that subject slightly. But the last few days had simply been too chaotic for him to do anything. And there was just no way he was going to do it without the utmost level of planning. Even more than what he’d done for the Wizengamot’s cessation.

All such thoughts left him however when the females dragged him in their chatter. There was just something about having a simple conversation around the table with the people you care for, that helped him relax a great deal.

He took a deep breath, feeling a warmth spreading through his chest. 'The war is just starting....but I’ll be ready for anything. I have to be.'

For his family and himself...Harry will need to be prepared for the worst. 

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AN: Done! Over 9k! Hopefully you didn't notice any discrepancy in quality.

Ideally I would've liked to make this as perfect as I could, but in a turn of events I find myself short of a beta again. My current ones are usually busy at the time of my posting. If there's any of you willing to read the chapter ahead, point out any change in character or writing quality, and bring in a different perspective, I'd appreciate it.

Anyway, Hogwarts is upon us finally! Sorry if it took too much time. The Voldemort and Wizengamot things were minor arcs in themselves. Did they feel pointless? Let me know in the comments!

That's all for today. Really hope you enjoyed this chapter. I felt quite comfortable writing it, but hopefully it didn't come in exchange of lowered quality. 

Well, see ya all tomorrow. Take care and peace!