Basic info: AU from HBP onward, no Hallows (I loathe them). No pairings that I can foresee. The war dragged longer than in canon by five years or so. Powerful!Harry (but not super!Harry), Dark!Evil!Harry, violence, gore, intrigue. Quite a bit will be revealed as we go along, so bear with me!
Also, edits have been done as of February 16th and 17th, because I still haven't learned to sit on a chapter for a week or two and this was atrocious!
There are two levers for moving men, interest and fear.
Men are more easily governed through their vices than their virtues.
—Napoleon Bonaparte
Harry landed—hard—on the limestone stone circle he had been using a hundred years in the future. Cornwall in June, 1981. He picked himself up and looked around. Gorgeous.
After healing the emerging bruises, he settled down on the yellowing rock dolmen and stared out over the verdant green valleys. It was late afternoon and the liquid amber light gilded the hyacinths and bushes. He absently stared at his surrounds, reviewing what he knew and what needed to be done.
He'd never been able to pin-point exactly when Peter had traded sides. Snape hadn't known, and neither had Remus or Sirius. Dumbledore had guessed August of 1981 and Harry had picked a date well before then so he could get as many of the horcruxes as he could and catch Peter. Harry knew from Sirius that Wormtail had become the secret keeper on September 28, 1981; Sirius had remembered the date with bitter clarity.
Regardless, Harry was bone tired, and so he pulled up the hood of his cloak like every fantasy villain ever, and disapparated in a swirl of robes.
He stayed the night at the Leaky Cauldron as Issac Merriweather—an old alias of Harry's from years of surreptitious traveling. The next morning, the moment Gringotts opened he made his way down to the bank. There was a surprising amount of traffic for so early in the morning, but Harry supposed the crowd was trying to get their children's school shopping done early to avoid London's nastily muggy summer afternoons. Slipping through the crowd, and reaching the bank, he slid into the lobby and crossed the cream colored marble floor to the nearest line of tellers.
“I'd like to start an account, please,” he said to the goblin behind the desk.
The teller eyed him cautiously for a moment before he pulled open a drawer behind the counter and rummaged through it. He fished out a stack of papers after a moment and pushed them across the top of the counter. “Please fill these out. When you have done that, we can open the account. The initial deposit is fifty galleons.”
Harry nodded and plucked the quill out of the pot of ink embedded in the counter top. He had begun to scratch away at the parchment before the goblin interrupted him, “Please use the ledge near the entrance to fill the papers out.”
“My apologies,” Harry said, putting down the quill. With a look of annoyance at the goblin, made his way over to the ledge to finish his paperwork.
Sometime later, he made his way back to the teller, the sheaf of parchment in hand. The goblin accepted the paperwork from Harry and flipped through it. “Do you have the initial deposit?”
Harry dropped a large sack on the counter and the goblin pulled it towards himself. He dug around in the bag, and after a moment seemed satisfied. With a sharp nod, the goble pressed something behind the counter. There was a clink and he handed Harry a bright brass key before disappearing. A few moments later, he returned with another goblin in tow.
“Longshank will take you down to your new vault, Mr. Merriweather,” the creature said imperiously as he climbed back on the stool behind the counter.
“Thank you,” Harry said as the new goblin slipped around the counter to lead him away.
--
Later that afternoon, house shopping commenced and before two weeks had elapsed, Harry had himself a place in Cornwall, which he called Ramshackle Cottage. He figured that he would attract less attention with a house and a place in government records.
As soon as all the housing legalities were sorted out, he put the plan into motion. Step one, find a job of some sort. It didn't matter much what it was as long as it wasn't high profile. Step two, destroy the horcruxes after double checking they were all where he remembered them being. Voldemort hadn't noticed when Regulus stole the locket, so Harry assumed he wouldn't notice when they started disappearing.
The cup and the ring were the only horcruxes Harry could get at without other people seeing what he was doing, as all the others were surrounded by people and therefore inaccessible at the moment.
After he had destroyed the two free-standing horcruxes (placing both in a cave and casting Fiendfyre spells into it for good measure), Harry had to deal with the three that were surrounded by people—the locket, the diadem, and the diary.
--
He spent several of his weekends off sitting across the street from Grimmauld in a tree under his invisibility cloak, staring at the house. There wasn't a Fidelus charm on it at the moment, as he could clearly see the house, but the lovely Mrs. Black never left the confines of her home. Her husband and younger son were dead and her various detestable relatives always came to visit her, never the other way around.
He wasn't sure what enchantments were on the door in this time, and while he could work them out if given time, that wasn't something he was going to have if she was still home.
Unless there was a way to aerosol sleeping potions? That could take both Mrs. Black and Kreacher out at once, if he played his cards right, but potions was still a weak point for Harry. He had finally learned to follow the directions in the book after so many years, but experimental potions would never, ever be something he could do. Unless a willing potioneer appeared out of the blue, it looked like he would have to at least wait for Mrs. Black to die before he tried anything. Kreacher himself would be easier to dispatch then the woman and would raise less of a ruckus.
Harry contemplated forcing Sirius into helping him somehow, but felt a bit squeamish about such a thing. That would be a last resort, followed probably by Sirius' death in order to protect delicate information.
The diary was in Lucius Malfoy's possession. Getting at it would require either sneaking into Malfoy Manor, which was a very bad idea, or having Malfoy hand it over to him after defeating Voldemort. There was also the possibility of having Malfoy take him to the chamber under the drawing room floor and destroying it there. There were dangerous flaws with that idea, too, Harry knew.
--
Ravenclaw's diadem was another issue. He had had to wait until the third week of September to sneak into Hogwarts through the tunnel from Honeydukes, where he now worked. Harry had crept along the wall to the Room of Requirement in his invisibility cloak and neatly filched the diadem from the Room of Hidden Things.
On the way back to the humpbacked witch, however, Mrs. Norris appeared in the hallway. Swearing, Harry knelt and placed his wand flat on the ground. He tilted it up slightly with a finger, and sent a stunner at the cat. It missed and she leaped with a hiss as the spell cracked against the stone wall behind her. Harry froze and yellow eyes scanned the hallway as she prowled around. She stared at the spot where he knelt for a moment before turning back the way she had come. He knew he had precious few moments to get to the witch and he ran, turning down a hallway he hadn't intended to use. A few moments passed with no sign of Filch of Mrs. Norris. Cautiously, he crept back to the hallway and inched along the walls. No Filch.
Good.
Harry became more confident and moved faster, wanting out of the castle. Not fifteen feet from the witch, Filch appeared. Shit. Harry froze against the wall, not even daring to breathe. Filch looked along the walls and Mrs. Norris twined between his feet. He stopped for a long moment near where Harry hid, but eventually they passed, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
Harry laughed at himself has he made his way back up the tunnel. He had been scared of a cat.
August approached, and Harry had taken to watching Order members he knew of. They were apparently using the sad little cottage Remus had inherited from his parents in Essex as a base in this time and it wasn't very hard to follow them. Hiding was relatively easy and as long as he avoided Dumbledore himself, Harry wasn't too worried about being caught. The woods around the cottage were enough to hide in under his cloak and he kept the broom he had recently bought on hand as both an escape and surveillance method.
Halloween crept closer and closer and it was October 16th that Harry cornered Peter Pettigrew.
“Who are you?” the fat little man squeaked. Peter was panicking as he found himself trapped in a wet London alleyway.
Harry silently advanced a few steps, and Peter gave another squeak. He started hyperventilating as he backed up, “What do you want?” How did he get into Gryffindor? As if reading Harry's thoughts, Peter finally reached for his wand, taking another couple stumbling steps backward. “I won't give you my money!”
“I just want to ask you a question,” Harry said innocently. Peter looked very uncertain but remained silent, so he went on. “Which way to Surrey?”
The fat little man nearly laughed in relief, clearly thinking Harry was just a muggle. Peter seemed to forget he still had his wand in hand. “You scared me! Go south and take the twenty to Fairfax.”
Harry grinned at him, “Thanks. Confundus!” Harry nailed him with a spell and pulled out a scrap of paper and a plain muggle pen. “Imperio!” he added, before handing Peter the paper and pen and the little rat scribbled down the Potter's address. When Peter handed the paper back, Harry canceled the Imperius charm, fired another Confundus, and then carefully Obliviated him. Harry lead the rat to the mouth of the alley, hit him with a third Confundus and slipped on his invisibility cloak in the cover of darkness. After a moment, looking woozy, Peter shook his head, looked around with both worry and fear on his face, and walked away.
The day before Halloween, Harry managed to catch Peter again and forced him to give what information he knew about the planned raid on the Potter household. Voldemort intended to arrive after dusk on Halloween with a few Death Eaters, including himself. The house was to be razed, and Lily to be given the option of living, though her life would be brief.
It was dusk on Halloween 1981, and Harry was currently lurking on his broom high above Godric's Hollow, having already prepared for the coming fight. He had rearranged the yard subtly earlier that day. The hedges which lined the winding walk up to the door were thicker and taller now, and whole plants had been shifted a little further in or a little further out, narrowing the walkway.
Harry had been sitting up here for hours and was getting both bored and stiff from the cold (invisibility cloaks were thin). Deciding that he should probably get some blood moving, he dived for the roof and cork-screwed up out of the plunge. He flew around for a bit and came to the conclusion that flying was not warm enough.
Landing carefully in the Potter's side garden, he tucked his broom away against the bottom of the white picket fence behind a leafless hedge and slipped around the bushes to start moving. He carefully made sure that his cloak covered every dance step and wiggle, almost as much out of embarrassment as necessity.
Still dancing, Harry he pulled out his wand to cast warming charms on his under cloak and shoes. Cracks rippled through the air and Harry slipped around to the front of the house to see Death Eaters and Voldemort standing on the the other side of the gate.
Excellent.
Absently, Harry tapped the house, casting a lock-down charm on the building as he examined the group before him. There were eight figures—Voldemort, what Harry guessed was Peter, and six other black-robed people.
Harry had come to the conclusion in his many years of chasing, fighting, and killing Death Eaters that only displays of force impressed them (very un-Slytherin), so that was he was going to do. It was very simple, his plan. Kill Voldemort in the most violent way possible and win their fear.
He tilted his head, watching Voldemort move toward the front door of cottage like a hawk. Casting a silent Body-Bind at Peter, Harry flicked his wand and a ten-foot stone rod shot out of the ground under the Dark Lord. Damn, missed, he thought as Voldemort yelled in surprise. Another flick. Got 'em. He pulled off his cloak and stuffed it in his pocket as Voldemort twitched and oozed black ichor from his mouth, having been impaled vertically on the spine.
The mobile Death Eaters were shouting and looking around for the culprit, and Harry rained stunners on them. They fired back—usually with more deadly spells—but he had them at the advantage. He had the high ground, the first shot, and a hell of a lot more power then they had. Moreover, they had a very limited range of movement due to the three foot tall hedges and a narrow walk way. Eventually, feeling physically tired and having been grazed by a few spells, he had them all stunned.
With a smirk, Harry righted, bound, and Enervated them.
“This is hostile take-over. I've killed Voldemort and I'll kill you if you don't follow me.” Harry said, “So, what do you say?” he asked as he rapped the cloaked heads one by one. The spell relaxed just enough for them to speak.
“No!” snarled one of them.
Harry peered at the man and made a guess at who it was, based on hazy memories. “Predictable, Mr. Rookwood.” He enjoyed the inevitable surprise and half-stifled gasps that followed. Damn lucky guess. Harry held him under a Crucio, lazily watching Rookwood's head thrash back and forth, listening to him scream.
Harry let up on the curse, “May I draw your attention to the lovely display to my left?” He gestured at the impaled Voldemort. The corpse looked shocked and agonized, oozing blood and Harry pointed at the pole sticking out of Voldemort's skull. “Would you like to join your Lord in the afterlife?” he asked, watching as the corpse slowly slid down the stake.
Several heads shook vigorously. No, they most certainly would not!
“Glorious. Will you join me?”
There were several ambivalent expressions of assent.
“Let me ask again. Will you follow me into glory? Will you help me lead the wizarding world into a new golden age?” Harry asked again, stalking around the immobile figures. “Will you be the first, my most trusted?”
Three heads nodded, “We will!” called one of them. The speaker sounded young.
“Very good.” Harry made his way over to them and released them one at a time. With each person, he would put the tip of his wand on the Dark Mark, ask them to do the same and incant the same spell. Each time, a rearing, pale gray, winged deer with long and graceful horns would appear in place of the Mark. The spell made them wince, but only briefly.
“You will know when I call you and how to get to me,” Harry said to his three new minions as he eyed his captives.
Rookwood opened his mouth, “Curse him you fools!” he hissed at the men and the woman at Harry's back.
They looked at Rookwood and each one of them stepped forward. “What can we do to serve, my lord?” asked the woman as they bowed.
“Levitate and re-bind this lot while I address some things, please. Then we'll be off, as I imagine the Headmaster will be here soon.” Harry pulled out a pre-written note. With one swish of his wand, Harry relieved Peter of his jugular and kicked the body over as blood spurted. He pinned the note to the least bloody part of Peter's cloak, and left.
The Headmaster appeared in Godric's Hollow with a crack, expecting a wreckage. Instead, he found a curse-scared house, a very dead Lord Voldemort, and a miscellaneous dead Death Eater on the the Potter's front lawn.
He paused to inspect the bloody mess that had been Lord Voldemort. A tall rod of stone had shot out of the lawn and apparently it caught the Dark Lord mid-step. Or perhaps jump, if the pole of pale stone two steps behind the corpse was any indication. The body slipped down the stake another few inches, and Voldemort's shoes hung about two feet off the ground. The soft patter of dripping blood sped up for a moment before slowing again, pooling around the foot of the rod.
There was a frantic pounding at the front door and Dumbledore started. He paused to examine the cottage for a moment before canceling the spell with a Finite. Both adult Potters came tumbling through the curse-scared front door before immediately leaping up.
“Ohmygoddidyouseethe—!”
“James,” Dumbledore said patiently, “slow down. Are you unharmed? Is Harry all right?”
Both Potters nodded, and Lily asked, looking wide-eyed, “What happened? Is everyone ok?”
“So far as I know, the rest of the Order is unharmed. As for what happened, we shall have to find out.” Dumbledore paused, “Who was your secret keeper?”
“Peter,” James said promptly.
“Not Sirius?”
“That was only an evasion tactic,” Lily shook her head, “Peter was the keeper.”
Dumbledore nodded, “It seems he betrayed you, then.”
James looked ready to deny that his friend was a turncoat, but Lily cut in. “Are the wards intact?”
The Headmaster nodded and James looked stunned for a moment before furiously denying it, “He was forced!”
Dumbledore gave James a sad look. “Who knew, besides the four of you?”
“No one,” Lily said, turning to her husband, “The facts are adding up, James.”
“He couldn't have!”
“Apparently, he could. I don't think Sirius would ever consider it—”
“And neither would Peter!”
They continued to argue as Dumbledore moved to pluck the note from the second body.
Rats make bad secret keepers
Carefully, he removed the mask from the corpse's face and tugged back the hood. Peter. “James,” he cut through the man's impassioned defense of his friend, “come here, please.”
The couple edged around the slipping remains of Voldemort and arrived at his side. Dumbledore looked at James, “I'm sorry, but it looks like he did betray you,” he said gently.
The black-haired man huffed and shook his head, “The robes prove nothing!”
Lily looked sadly at the body, “Have you checked for the Mark yet?”
“Not yet,” the Headmaster said. With a flick of his wand, the left sleeve of the robe crept back and a black tattoo of a skull and snake was slowly revealed.
The color in Jame's face drained. “No.”
Lily looked exhausted. “Oh no...”
Dumbledore handed the note over to her.
She read it and paled. “Do you think that's a threat?”
“No. I don't think whoever wrote that means you any harm. I think he or she—”
“—He,” James said. “From what we saw, it was a he.”
“—He,” Dumbledore amended, “sealed you in the house. He killed Voldemort before he entered the house, and left Peter here, too.”
James and Lily both nodded, though James was still staring at the blood-splattered and terrified face of his late and former friend.
“Can you tell me what you saw?” Dumbledore asked gently.
There was a pause. Lily looked at her husband, “Why don't I take this? You go watch the baby, please.”
Woodenly, James nodded and left.
With amusement, Harry strolled into Voldemort's former domain; his minions and soon-to-be-minions had all been surprised that he had known where Voldemort had held camp. He had sent two of his new minions ahead of them and kept one with him to guide him to the central planning room. Either his two were very good and cleared out most of the possible resistance, or there were very few people in the manor.
Richard, as Harry had discovered his name was, swept open the door to what was apparently central command, wand at the ready. They found it empty, and Harry made his way to the head of a long, narrow, and ornately decorated table, dropping into the chair and canceling the levitation charm. The figures landed roughly on their feet and two toppled over.
“Richard, pick them up, would you?” he asked the young man. A few moments later, the other two of Harry's new-born army reappeared and helped Richard heave both captives upright.
Harry stood up and relaxed the body-binding spells again before returning to the head of the table. He perched on the arm and asked, “So, thought about my offer?”
Two of them chorused, “Yes!” and Harry smiled warmly. He changed their marks to match his chosen symbol and settled down again to stare at the remaining two resistors, Rookwood and Amycus Carrow.
“So, you're going to be stubborn, hm? All right then. We'll make use of you yet, though.” Harry nodded.
He turned to his attendants as they sat down. “So. I'm going to assimilate all of you into my own group. We need to decide when to show your former fellows that it's in their best interests to convert.”
“The sooner, the better, my lord,” said Richard from the seat to Harry's right.
The others rumbled in agreement.
Harry nodded and then the voice of a woman floated up from the far end of the company. “Please, my lord, what are we to call you?”
“'Ibex' will do, I think. Unlike your late lord, I did not choose to spend ages agonizing over which anagram of my name to use. I simply picked a new one.”
A few chuckles echoed up the table.
“Here is my only rule. Do what I tell you, and you will be rewarded. Disobey me, and you will likely end up dead. Betray me, and I will break and bury you. Understand?”
Five heads nodded vigorously.
“Excellent.”
A few hours later, the Death Eaters felt the call to assemble. When they answered it, they found themselves in the foyer to the great ballroom. A cloaked figure stood at the door.
“Wands in the cubby holes, please!” the man said as he pointed to a wall of name-plated cubbies, “It's perfectly safe. You and only you will be able to retrieve them.”
There was some grumbling and muttering and one man called out, “Why does the Dark Lord want us to leave our wands?”
The first man stiffened. “Are you questioning our lord?” he asked dangerously.
“No!” the other looked panicked. “No! I'm not!”
“Then put your wand in your assigned cubby,” the door guard snapped.
The crowd followed the order and slowly filtered out into the ball room, while the Lestranges, Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, and Alecto Carrow, were shown into a side room. The rest milled around in the ballroom, curiously observing the throne against the far wall and two Death Eaters, who were drifting in the drafts of the room, high above the floor.
Harry waited in the wings, draped in a black cloak, for just long enough to set the crowd of Death Eaters off balance. When he felt he had agitated them enough, he strolled idly into the room and up the pumice stair case to the obsidian throne Voldemort had favored. The cowl of the cloak disguised Harry's face as he sat on the ice cold stone.
“Good evening. I come bearing both bad and good news.” Harry paused. “The bad news is Lord Voldemort is dead—” there was an uproar and Harry's five enforcers took a moment to subdue the cries of anger and anguish.
When all was silent again, he continued. “The good news is that a new—a stronger, greater—leader shall be taking the reigns.” Another pause for effect, “I am that leader. I am Ibex. Together, we shall forge a world that surpassed even the Dark Lord's greatest dreams! One that shall last ten thousand years! You, my brethren, will be looked upon with awe by the future—if, and only if—you join me. It shall be considered a great honor to be of your line, your stock, in the centuries to come—if, and only if—you join us. You will be titans among wizardkind, with power, status, and wealth—if, and only if—you join the Deluge. We will wipe this world clean to begin again! Join us, and be remembered by what you built for all time!”
The crowd cheered and Harry smiled. Five minutes of sweet talking and he had scores of new minions. Promise them the moon, sound grand, and they'll race into your clutches.
“If you wish to be a titan, step forward!” he called.
A large crowd surger forward and Harry organized the conversion. A few explanations later, and the horde had had their marks changed.
Moving to the throne again, Harry stared out at those who remained Death Eaters. This lot was probably more difficult to convert, relatively speaking, and would need a show of force.
“My friends, we must deal with a pair of resistors,” Harry called the floating duo in front of the throne. “These two have set themselves against the forging of this new world. This cannot be tolerated.” He stripped Rookwood and Carrow of their cloaks and masks after Enervating them.
“How shall I deal with them?” he asked his minions. “How should we handle those who resist our flood?”
His crowd jeered. “Kill them!” called one.
Calls to maim, mangle, and murder them continued for a long moment and Harry held up a hand for quiet.
He was silent for a long moment, staring at the hovering bodies. Both men looked dazed and hazy, though Rookwood looked closer to coherency. “As you wish,” Harry inclined his head to the Deluge.
Carrow was returned to the floor and Richard stepped forward to lean the Death Eater against the steps before returning to his place near the dais. Harry lounged on the throne, staring at Rookwood, who floated some ten feet above the floor.
“You!” Rookwood bellowed, obviously now fully cognizant. “You killed the Dark Lord!”
“Yes, I did” Harry agreed. “Survival of the fittest.” With a flick, Rookwood was quickly flipped upside down. The man tried to keep his head level and nearly gave himself whiplash. “Step back,” Harry called to the crowd of Death Eaters and Delugians. They obliged and soon a clear space before the throne opened up.
Harry pulled back his hood and stared at Rookwood again. “You stand in the way of progress. You stand in the way of the new world. This cannot be tolerated. This is your last chance to join the Deluge.”
Rookwood merely sneered at him, defiant.
“Hm, very well then.” Harry shook his head. He held out his wand and with a sharp downward slash, sliced the man open. With a second slash, he cut the skin along the ribcage, forming a v-shaped incision. Rookwood's guts slowly slid forward on the edge of his rib cage, leaning precariously out of the wound. With a wet splat, they tumbled to the floor, slapping against the screaming man as they fell. Blood rained to the floor, and Harry cast a stasis spell on him to keep him alive. He descended from the throne and circled slowly.
With a severing spell, Harry sliced off the length of intestine below his captive's head and Rookwood screamed again. Another spell was fired, slicing off the skin slowly and in one piece; a spiral of hair and skin descended slowly from the body, coming to a stop several feet below Rookwood's head. Blood streamed to the pool gathering below the man and Harry cast an Evanseco, watching the apple curl of skin lengthen. It finally slide completely free, leaving muscle, bone, and sinew exposed.
He cast another spell and jerked his wand. A pulsing bundle erupted from Rookwood's mouth, flying forward and coming to rest at the gasping crowd's feet. It unfurled and delicate grey-beige branches opened up, squirting jets of blood. At the center of the glistening tree was a violently pulsating heart.
Expressionless, Harry canceled the stasis spell, and with a few final twitches, Rookwood died. He looked down at Carrow as he climbed the steps to the throne and dispelled the Bony Bind. He tilted his head to the side, staring at the terrified man from his vantage point a few steps above his victim.
“Hm. What to do with you, what to do? Ah.” He cast a spell on Carrow, and for a moment nothing seemed to happen. Then a fine red liquid coated Carrow's skin and he began to choke. Blood erupted from his mouth with each wheezing sputter, ran from his nose, and oozed out of his ears. Tears of blood trickled down his face and Carrow's robes darked slowly, his skin begining to pale. A pool of red oozed out from under him as he began to buck violently. With a gurgled scream, Carrow's body relaxed in death.
With a steely eyed stare, Harry surveyed the crowd, “Who will join the Deluge?”
There was a clamor and the other half of the crowd edged around the bodies to stand in the wings. Most excellent.
An hour later, Harry sent away all but fifteen men and women—his original five and ten more of the best and brightest.
“Richard, please lead Lucius Malfoy in, but tell him nothing of current events,” he called, pulling up his hood. The man bowed and obliged.
A few moments later, Malfoy appeared at the foot of the throne. “How my I serve, my lord?” he asked as he bowed deeply. Lucius was clearly trying to ignore Rookwood and Carrow, who still lay on the blood-slicked floor.
Harry smiled slightly under his hood. “Kneel, Lucius.”
Malfoy started at the unfamiliar voice but quickly knelt at the foot of the dais, assuming that Voldemort had undergone yet another obscure ritual, this one having changed his voice.
Harry remained silent for a while, enjoying the increasing level of anxiety he was provoking in the Death Eater. He eventually broke the silence, “Lord Voldemort has expired.” Malfoy's head shot up and he started to rise. Harry went on, “I am offering you a place in my ranks. I suggest you take it.”
Lucius, who had almost risen, sank back down into a kneeling position. Voldemort was dead—there was no other way the man could be sitting in the throne with Yaxely lounging against a wall so nearby. This man stank of power and magic, and it was always best to be on the good side of such men. Lucius was also very aware of the two dead bodies at his back; he could guess what had happened and he did have an infant son at home.
So he smiled up at the man on the throne, “How may I address you, my lord?”
Harry was pleased. “As Ibex. You may rise,” he said. As he descended the stairs, he added, “Roll up your left sleeve, please.”
Malfoy pulled it back, baring the ugly black snake and skull, and Harry replaced it with the pale rearing deer. Harry hadn't failed to notice how long it had taken Malfoy to answer, and he smirked inwardly. There was a charm woven into the incantation that marked a Delugian that made them more suggestible to his orders or suggestions, and to his alone. Still, he would kill Lucius if he felt in necessary.
“Malfoy, please retrieve Snape, but tell him nothing.” The blond slipped away to retrieve the potions master and Harry lounged lazily in his chair, legs thrown over one arm.
The black haired man followed Malfoy in and stilled when he saw Harry sitting on Voldemort's throne. Voldemort had always given off an air of dignified danger, but the air around the figure on the throne buzzed with luxurious, indolent power.
“Severus Snape,” Harry drawled as Lucius herded Snape toward the the dais. “I have an opportunity for you.”
“Yes, my lord?” Snape was unsure of how to respond to the man on the throne. Part of him didn't believe it was Voldemort sitting on the throne, but the other part didn't see who else it could be.
“It will be quite worth your while. The Dark Lord has passed from this earth.”
Snape's face only showed shock for a fleeting moment before smoothing out again. “I see,” he said neutrally.
“I'm offering you a position in my ranks,” Harry said.
Snape looked at him carefully, “May I have some time to think it over?”
Ah, he's going to ask Dumbledore about it. “If you wish. Please have an answer in the next hour. Richard, Anesidora, Yaxely, please escort Mr. Snape to the the third floor meeting room. Bring him back when that time has elapsed.”
The three lead the fourth away, and Harry asked Nott, “Would you please bring Bellatrix Lestrange in?”
It wasn't very long before she entered the room and knelt that the bottom of the platform. “My lord,” she asked breathlessly, looking adoringly up at him, “was the raid a success?”
Disgusted by her slavishness, Harry didn't answer and simply killed her. As she toppled over with a look of surprise on her face, he examined his finger nails, “Give your wife my condolences, Lucius.” The blond looked stunned, though not sad. “Zabini, please bring me the files, if we have any, on the Order of the Phoenix.”
“Yes, my lord,” the man bowed and hurried off.
“Tillman?” Harry called, “Kindly remove Carrow and Bellatrix. Leave Rookwood.”
One of the figures nodded and strode around the dais to the bodies. Being one of the original five, he still had his wand and he pulled it out. And then paused. “My lord?” he asked hesitantly, “What do I do with them?”
“Carrow, you can dispose of how you like. Lestrange is to be kept in one piece and unmarred. Put her body in another room, please.”
Tillman nodded and dealt with Carrow first. He waved his wand and the man's body dissolved into a pile of soft white ash. An Evanesco took care of the remaining mess. He levitated Bellatrix's body out the room.
“Lucius?” Harry called.
The blond looked up, uncertainty coloring his expression, “My lord?”
“Two things. First, understand that what I did to your sister-in-law is not my usual order of business. Unless you disobey or betray me, you will not likely die in my service. You may wish to tell your wife Bellatrix finally irritated the Dark Lord enough he killed her before the raid. Secondly, I want you to retrieve Alecto.”
Lucius nodded and disappeared. Zabini returned with an armload of scrolls as Lucius left the room.
“My lord, these are all the files we have on the Order,” he said as he placed them on a stair step.
“Excellent. Thank you, Zabini,” he said as Lucius lead Alecto Carrow into the ball room. She looked with idle curiosity at the still hovering body of Augustus Rookwood as she made her way to the throne.
“My lord,” she bowed when she reached the dais. Harry remained silent, and she looked up at him uncertainly for a moment before looking down again.
He pulled out his wand and sent a green curse at her. Alecto slumped forward in death, her surrised face glazed over.
“Tillman, please dispose of her.”
Another puff of soft, white ash tumbled across the floor.
“Good,” Harry smiled. “That should be the last of the must-kills. Everyone else shall have a proper chance.”
Moments later, the Lestrange brothers were lead across the floor and took little convincing to give their allegiances to him.
“Rastaban, you weren't too attached to your wife, were you?” Harry asked as he descended the stairs.
The larger of the two men turned to look up at Harry. “No, my lord,” he said curiously, tucking a strand of brown hair back behind his mask. “Did something happen to her?”
“I killed her,” Harry said matter-of-factly as he strode towards Rastaban.
“Oh.” Apparently they did not have much, if anything, of a relationship if his lack of reaction was anything to go by. She had probably spent most of their marriage pining after Voldemort.
“Yes,” Harry nodded. “I have plans for her body, if you don't have any objections.”
“No, I don't. Do as you wish with it, Lord Ibex.” He bowed.
Harry nodded. “Last thing. Give me the name of a house elf. Doesn't matter which one.”
“Ankles,” Rastaban said after a moment.
Harry raised an eyebrow, “Ankles?”
Rastaban nodded.
“Hm, well, thank you.” Harry made his way back to the dais and called for the elf.
With a crack, it appeared in front of Harry on the floor. He was tall for an elf, with bulgy blue eyes and pale floppy ears, swathed in a blue and white towel.
“How can Ankles be of help to you, sir?”
Dolohov stepped forward, sounding furious. “You will address him as Lord Ibex!” he yelled at his elf.
“Peace, Antonin. He didn't know.” Harry looked back at the cowering creature. “How many of you are there?”
“Five! There is being f-f-five of us, L-l-ord Ibex!” Ankles stuttered, stillstaring at his master.
“Relax,” Harry encouraged the elf. “Which one of you hates Nagini the most?”
“None of is h-hating her, sir!”
Harry rather doubted this. In his old timeline, Nagini had eaten four consecutive Malfoy elves and terrorized all of them beforehand. “You won't get in trouble if you hate her. Now, tell me who hates Nagini the most,” he ordered.
The elf seemed to be struggling with himself in his desire to protect his fellows. “Tiddles does, sir!” the elf burst finally.
“Excellent. Tiddles!” Harry called.
A short and stumpy elf appeared. “What can Tiddles be doing for you, sir?” she asked, eying Ankles' apologetic expression.
“Tell me, do you hate Nagini?”
She paused, “Yes. Tiddles is hating Nagini.” Tiddles sounded uncertain as to where this would lead.
“Good. Kill her. I would drop on her back and stab her where her head meets the spine with a knife. Or, alternately, you could freeze her room and send her into a torpor, and then kill her. However you do it, I want her dead. Feel free to enlist help and get creative. You have one week to do it.”
The elf nodded, “Anything further, sir?”
“No. You and Ankles may go.”
With twin cracks, they were gone.
-
Snape was lead back into the room before very long, his face a mask.
“Have you decided?” Harry asked him, twirling his wand as he sat on the throne.
The black haired man nodded, “I will join.”
“Excellent.”
Snape's mark was changed and, returning to the throne, Harry pulled back his hood and let it fall against his shoulders. He very much enjoyed the growing look of horror on Snape's face.
Harry's face was sharper than James' smiling face, and he was shorter then his father had been. A hundred years and immortality had rearranged his features some, but he still resembled James Potter enough to infuriate Snape.
The resemblance was not lost on the rest of the Delugians, either. Malfoy, especially, looked fit to burst with questions.
Harry chuckled, “I believe you have a question, Lucius?”
“Ah, no, my lord,” he back pedaled.
“Come on,” Harry cajoled. “I know you want to know what house I was in, at the very least.”
Lucius hesitated, but remained silent.
“Gryffindor.”
Snape looked ready to faint.
“But I didn't graduate with any of you. Different year entirely.”
Severus Snape arrived back at Hogwarts well into the wee hours of the morning, and he barged into Dumbledore's office. “I hate Ibex.”
“Is that his name for himself?” asked Dumbledore, curious as to why anyone would name themselves after a type of mountain goat.
Severus nodded.
Still better than “flight of death,” Dumbledore supposed, offering Snape a lemon drop absently.“Is he as bad as Voldemort was?”
Severus paused, “When I was called into the ballroom, Amycus Carrow's body was on the floor, covered in blood from head to toe. No obvious wounds. However, there were the remains of a body—I don't know who's—hovering above the floor, all the skin, muscle, and quite a number of its internal organs on the floor. Apparently, he also killed Bellatrix and Alecto, though just with the Killing curse.”
Dumbledore nodded with a sigh. “Did he outline his plans?”
“Nothing specific. Just the usual grandstanding.” Severus rolled his eyes. “He changed our marks, too—I don't know how, but he did.” Severus rolled up his left sleeve, and a slender winged ibex with long, graceful horns reared in place of the snake and skull. Black for grey. Hm.
“Did he mention anything about the Potters?” the Headmaster asked, examining the grey ibex tattoo.
Severus grunted. “No. But he looks like Potter. Almost his clone!”
Dumbledore fixed him with a sharp gaze, “What?”
“I said, he looks very much like James Potter! Shorter, thinner, sharper, older, but still essentially Potter. He was even a Gryffindor!”
Dumbledore looked startled. “May I see a memory?”