The words of his mouth were smoother than butter, but war was in his heart: his words were softer than oil, yet were they drawn swords. ~Psalms 55:21
Harry crept around Grimmauld Place at dusk, noting what purebloods tended not to remember. They often forgot little details, like warding windows against all intrusion. Sure, Harry himself couldn't climb through the window, but if he really wanted to kill Mrs. Black that wouldn't matter. There were all sorts of nasty little spells, some of his own invention, that could ghost through the house and kill every last thing without requiring him to enter the building.
He levitated a large bottle of Snape's sleeping potion through a bottom story window into a sitting room, and allowed it to drop. He closed the window, watching through it carefully as the thick gas spiraled upward. Before the room was fully clouded, Harry saw Kreacher come rushing into the room and then promptly pass out.
Harry cast a bubble head charm and cracked the window open just far enough to stick the end of his wand through the opening, and cast a spell that sent a gust of wind through the open door and swirling through the rest of the house. Harry waited half an hour and made his way to the front door. It took a further two hours to dissect the spells guarding the door and test for more spells on the threshold of the door. Once satisfied that opening the door wouldn't seriously harm him, he recast the Bubble Head Charm and continued to dissect the spells in the hallway.
Once he had destroyed the last spell, he slipped upstairs to the study. Harry assumed that if the locket had been in the study last time, that it had been placed there by Regulus himself. His guess was rewarded and he snagged it. He hurried out, apparated to the cave he had used to destroy the other horcruxes, and dropped the locket not too far from the entrance. He stepped back and cast the Fiendfyre spell into the cave and ran for cover. A heartbeat later, a long blast of orange-red fire bloomed out of the mouth of the cave and into the night, the rock glowing white-hot.
Harry smiled to himself and went home to Ramshackle Cottage.
Saturday arrived, and Harry called the circle meeting. He scanned the room as he strolled into the room, Richard trailing behind him. Everyone but Snape was seated at the long table in the study that served as the central planning room. He dropped into the chair at the head of the table.
Moments later, the door cracked open and Snape slipped in, stealing across the room to slip into an empty chair.
Harry raised an eyebrow at the man. “So nice of you to join us, Severus,” he said caustically.
“My apologies, my lord. The Headmaster took overlong at the staff meeting,” Snape replied stiffly.
A flimsy excuse, Harry felt, and he wondered vaguely what had held him up.
The meeting continued, and each member received an assignment that would occupy them for the next several weeks until the next meeting.
“My lord,” Snape said towards the end of the evening, “if I may ask a question...?”
Harry nodded with a shrug.
“What of the Order?” he asked. “They are still out there and are going to oppose us as often as possible.”
Harry shrugged again. “They don't matter all that much. I'm changing the battlefield, Severus, and thus invalidating the lot of them. There's really no reason to go after them, but if they choose to interfere, I will not hesitate to disable or kill them. I would prefer not to—their deaths would create ill will—but needs must.”
--
At the end of the gathering, Harry called, “Lucius, remain behind please.”
Lucius stood near the table as the others filed out, and as soon as the door was shut Harry gestured at the chair.
“Sit,” he said, and cast an Imperturbable on the door as Malfoy settled in the chair. “So, Lucius, how goes it with the werewolf bill?” he asked, propping his feet up on the table.
“It goes, my lord. I...am having some trouble enlisting a few of the older purebloods. They do not wish to be involved with such a bill,” Lucius responded.
Harry nodded with a hum. “I want this done quietly, Lucius, but feel free to issue a few threats; I will be more than happy to assist you in carrying them through. Bribe them if you must. I will reimburse you some of what you spend doing so.
However, I require that you offer your assistance to Dumbledore. We can drag his name through the mud later, but very quietly offer to help him pull various members in the mean time. I don't think he'll try to implicate you, since I rather think he'll know that the public won't believe him if he says so.” He looked sternly at Malfoy, “This discussion to to remain utterly confidential. You may not tell your wife, Severus, or your infant son. You may ask your fellows for assistance, of course, but the requirement is to remain classified. Do you understand?”
Malfoy nodded solemnly, “Yes, my lord.”
Albus Dumbledore was less than surprised when Lucius Malfoy appeared in his office and offered his assistance with the werewolf bill. But more than that, he wasn't sure what to do with the offer. The bill was an incredible piece of legislation that would help the lives of hundreds of people, but it would advance the power of a Dark Lord; he was very sure that Ibex wasn't doing good for the sake of doing good, which rather invalidated the whole thing.
The sudden lack of mysterious deaths was not unremarked upon by the Wizarding community of the UK and whispers shot through the halls of the Ministry and wound through Diagon Ally. Word got out that Lord Voldemort had been killed and the whispers became rumors, “Are we free?” “Is he really dead?” “How did that happen?”
Harry supposed he couldn't have hoped that the entirety of his Deluge would be discrete, though he still put out quiet feelers to find out who had opened their mouth. He, she, possibly they, would regret it.
Predictably, a young Rita Skeeter caught wind of the rumor swirling through Diagon Alley and started digging.
Lord Ibex: Man or Myth?
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Rumors abound that the You-Know-Who has been killed and replaced by a man calling himself “Lord Ibex.” There is evidence that says You-Know-Who has disappeared—the sudden lack of black-cloaked raids and mysterious disappearances—but only an interview with a supposed follower proves anything about this new Dark Lord.
“He's different,” said the 'Delugian' as his followers are called. “Lord Ibex is just as brutal, but different than You-Know-Who ever was. He hasn't ordered us on any raids, and we've been told to behave ourselves, as he put it. Hist tactics are completely different.”
The article went on to dissect the interview, drawing wild conclusions at every turn. Harry was particularly amused when Skeeter suggested Lord Ibex was really James Potter in disguise. The resemblance was there, of course, but Harry looked an indeterminate early twenties to James Potter's definite twenty one. The shift back to youth from middle age had also rearranged his features somewhat, making his face longer and his features sharper.
The next morning, the editorial section featured a furious letter from James, decrying Skeeter's article. The third morning, there was a reprint of the article, this time on the front page rather than in the back where it had originally been printed. Apparently, James' letter drew far more attention to Lord Ibex: Man or Myth? than it had initially been given and the Daily Prophet had been bombarded with requests for a reprint.
The evening of the third day, Harry received an owl at Dolohov's, which he ignored in favor of Crucio'ing the person responsible for the rumors in the first place.
“Gossip, gossip, evil thing, hmm Konrad?” Harry asked the young man panting on the floor.
“'M sorry, my l-lord,” Konrad croaked. “I didn't think it would get out!”
“Mm, well, it did, didn't it? Never assume things won't get out. I shouldn't have, that's for certain,” Harry said. “Should have handled it earlier, perhaps. Regardless, have we learned something here?” he asked.
The Delugian nodded weakly, “I n-never should h-have talked!” he said around the muscle spasms. “I'l-ll never d-do it again!”
“Excellent,” Harry nodded, “Go see someone for a potion,” he gestured at door.
Konrad scrambled up as fast as his cramping body would allow and hobbled out of the study. Harry turned around when the owl rapped on the window again and let it in. It soared around the room and landed on the back of a chair, holding out its leg.
The fanciful seal of the Daily Prophet was stamped on a scroll, which he reluctantly untied.
Lord Ibex,
I write for the Daily Prophet and wish to do another article about you. Would you be interested in giving me an interview?
Rita Skeeter Special Correspondent
She was not yet the conniving and slick reporter she would be in later years, and still clumsy. No matter, Harry shrugged, as he would not be obliging her.
The constant owling went on for the better part of two weeks, and Harry grew progressively more annoyed with each flittering owl that arrived at either the mansion or his cottage. After seeing Harry hex an owl flapping around the study, Richard suggested putting up an anti-owl ward.
“This,” Harry joked, “is why I keep you around.”
Richard grinned. “Thank you my lord,” he said with a minute bow. “I live to serve.”
Harry laughed, “All right,” he said, “you've volunteered yourself for the research, O my servant.”
Richard sighed, “Yes sir,” he said. “I brought that on myself, didn't I?”
“Possibly,” Harry nodded, “possibly.”
The third week after the Lord Ibex article came out, the bill Lucius had been quietly pushing passed. There was a small section of the populous that cheered, but most of the people screamed bloody murder. There were cries about “misuse of tax dollars” and suggestions that the majority of the Wizengamot was senile, particularly Dumbledore, who had sponsored the bill. The Daily Prophet did its duty and thoroughly smeared the Headmaster's name.
That evening, Harry called his Delugians together in the ballroom.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he spoke, standing on the top stair of the dais. “We achieved a great victory yesterday when the werewolf bill passed.”
There was an unsurprising rumble of discontent.
“There is a reason this is a victory, my friends,” he called over the muttering. “Many will move against the lycanthropes and most will be openly hostile to them. When we protect them, they will aide us. They are not small in number, several hundred—almost a thousand—are afflicted. Every wand that is for us is one less against us. Every willing soul will make our ascent to power and the forging of our new world that much easier. Offer them our protections and quiet the riot against them, and they will be our willing assistants.
Every time they receive medical attention after a moon, they better off they are and the more likely they are to help us. Every werewolf with a job is one more with the ability to protect our families. Every lycan satisfied with life is one less that will rebel, one less impurity we will have to burn away in the flames of our forge.” He paused, searching the crowd. “Do we have werewolves among us?”
A man stepped out of the crowd, straight-backed and proud. He pulled back his hood and flashed greying, kernel-like teeth in a parody of a smile, “Fenrir Greyback.”
Harry stared at him. “I don't think you're a Delugian,” he commented, wondering who the hell had let him in, before realizing that he was probably still tuned to the wards.
“Not yet,” agreed Greyback, “but I'll take the mark if you'll have me.”
Harry paused and nodded, “I will discuss it with you later, but yes, you will be welcomed into the Deluge.”
Greyback stood tall and nodded proudly before retreating back into the crowd.
Harry looked back over the crowd, “When you next meet a werewolf, remember that they can be great allies to us. They are to be sheltered and assisted whenever possible. Do your best by them and they will wield the forge bellows for us!”
The crowd cheered.
When Harry dismissed the crowd, Richard scooted out to remind Greyback that he was to hang back, and in a few minutes the shabby man stood at the foot of the pumice dais.
Harry descended and stopped one step above the floor. “Do you wish to take the mark of Lord Ibex?”
“I do,” said Greyback.
“Do you agree to serve him all your life?”
“I do.”
“Do you agree to obey his orders and commands?”
“I do.”
“Then be welcomed into the Deluge, Fenrir Greyback.” Harry pulled out his wand and gestured for Greyback's left arm. The werewolf rolled up his sleeve and the marking ceremony took place.
“I have heard tell of you, Greyback,” Harry remarked to him, once he had reached the throne again.
“Oh?” asked Greyback curiously.
“Mhm,” he nodded solemnly as he sat down, “None of it good. You are to avoid bitting people. I am aware that it is your favorite revenge tactic, and Merlin have mercy on you if you bite another child, because I will not.”
Greyback nodded solemnly. “I will do my best.”
“No,” disagreed Harry, “You will ensure that it does not happen. If it does, even by accident, then you will suffer my wrath; it will only be an issue if you choose not to use the tools at your fingertips to prevent it. If nothing else, we will assist you, if you cannot find something on your own.” Harry narrowed his eyes at Greyback, “Do you understand?”
Fenrir nodded and bowed, “I do, my lord.”
“Excellent. Understand that you probably will not survive what I will do to you if you fail to put up safeguards.”
Greyback had heard about what Lord Ibex had done to Rookwood and he liked his veins and skin right where they were. “I understand.”
“Excellent. You are dismissed.”
The next day, Rita Skeeter's second article came out, called An Unknown Agenda. Luckily, it was buried under the mess of the werewolf bill, so very few people noticed it. It detailed what very little Skeeter had discovered about what Harry intended to do and noted his refusal to allow an interview, despite repeated owls requesting one.
Harry rolled his eyes and moved on, deciding he would hex the woman when an opportunity presented itself.
--
Remus stared thoughtfully at the newspaper over breakfast.
Sirius looked at his flatmate and friend curiously as he buttered his toast. “That expression generally means you're plotting something, Mooney. What fresh Hells are you planning to unleash on the world today?”
Remus shot him a look over his paper, “Hells? That's your end of things, Sirius. I tend to stick with mild-but-hilarious.”
“So you think,” he said dryly. “But you haven't answered my question, Remus,” Sirius reminded him, still scraping his toast with the butter knife.
Remus rolled his eyes, “Just considering ways to figure out who this Ibex person is. This Skeeter woman, the one who wrote Lord Ibex: Man or Myth? She wrote another article called An Unknown Agenda and noted that she's owled him for an interview and he's refused. I was thinking we could owl him ourselves and attempt to track the bird.”
“Did she says he'd written back to tell her no?”
“No, so it's possible the owl simply didn't reach him. But it's worth a try, though.”
Harry was in the middle of a meeting several weeks after the werewolf bill had passed when he felt something at the edge of his cottage's wards. He frowned.
He apparated home, landing in his yard. He made his way through the small wood that surrounded his home and that fell under his wards. Peering out of the brush that edged the trees, Harry saw Dumbledore, James, and Lily staring at the trees on the edge of his property.
“Did we figure out who's address this is?” asked James.
Dumbledore nodded, “Issac Merriweather.”
James snickered, “Impressive name for a Dark Lord.”
Dumbledore examined the wards, casting a few spells. “I haven't seen wards like this before,” he said, peering at the symbols etched in spell plasma on the dome of the wards, “These aren't runes.” He paused as a graceful, elegant script appeared, going from right to left. “...That looks like Arabic.”
Lily looked at him, “Arabic? What's he doing, using Arabic?”
“It's not Arabic, per se, but it looks very similar, Lily. I would guess that he doesn't expect—and rightfully so—that anyone will know the counter spells. There's precious few ways to unbind spells you don't know, and none of the ways I know will work on this.” Symbols continued popping up on the dome and Dumbledore stared blankly at them, “Some of this is...old magic. Very old magic. I've never seen some of these symbols.”
The image of a beautiful woman standing on a crescent moon appeared on the ward dome. A horned snake was draped across her shoulders and she had a halo of stars around her head, and she tilted her head at them curiously. She spoke, but it was too softly for them to make out very much and what little they caught didn't sound like English anyway. Then she hissed loudly and a soft laugh echoed out of the woods.
They froze and James lifted a lit wand, shining light into the woods. A man stood in the brush and the light glinted off his glasses. He smiled eerily at them and disappeared with a flicker before any of them got a good look.
At the beginning of March's mass meeting, Snape brought along a surprise. A cloaked man trailed through the crowd after him and Severus lead him before the throne. He forced the man to his knees with a thump, a slight, malicious smile on his lips.
“My lord, I have a recruit I wish to bring to your attention,” he said quickly, yanking back the man's hood. Remus Lupin looked up at Harry with trepidation, blinking in the light from the chandlier.
Harry had to mask his surprise. It was clear the Snape had convinced Dolohov to let Remus in and Harry decided he needed to alter Dolohov's wards so that he alone could choose was allowed in. He shot the cringing Antonin a harsh glare.
“Be nice, Severus,” Harry admonished, looking back at his visitor and Snape. “Let him stand up.” He watched expectantly as Snape backed up a couple steps and Remus rose. He seriously doubted the man legitimately wanted to join.
“Remus Lupin,” Harry drawled with amusement, “A pleasure.”
Remus looked startled and then slightly worried that Harry knew his name. “Thank you, my lord,” he nodded uncertainly.
Harry said, “I will wish to speak to you privately later, but do feel free to stick around if you like. Alternatively, there's a side room nearby that you may retire to. Severus here is quite familiar with it, so he can show you there if that's what you decide.” Harry ignored the flicker of a scowl that crossed Snape's face.
“I think I'll stay here, my lord.”
“As you like,” Harry said, turning back to the crowd. “The werewolf bill is proving to be a wild success,” he called as soon as they had quieted. “Bite rates are down, prosperity is up after only four months, and more packs are joining us every day!”
There was cheer in the back, where several packs stood. Harry flashed them a smile before moving on, “The transition has been surprisingly quiet, and for that I must thank you. This is but the beginning of the flood that will wipe our society's slate blank, so that we may begin again. This is the first strike of the hammer that will forge our new world! We must cultivate a good image for the Deluge amongst the common witch and wizard. Speak highly of the world we wish to create, the world we will help to bloom, one we will all help build. A world where all witches and wizards are safe and well treated, where each person—human and otherwise—can stand tall and know they have a place and a purpose in life. It is only when we all stand together that the magical world will be safe!”
A woman stepped forward amid the cheering, “My lord, if I may ask a question?”
He nodded, “Ask away.”
“What of mudbloods?” she asked bluntly, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her mask. Ah. Anesidora.
Harry angrily narrowed his eyes at her, remembering Hermione and her theory, “You disappoint me by using such a vulgar term, Anesidora, and such words have no place in our new world. Muggleborns are descended of magical lines and are brought back to their proper place for a reason. Magic does nothing without purpose, my dear. Always trust it has a reason, one that is often greater than mortals can see.”
There were far more half bloods and muggleborns than purebloods, most of whom he already had on a leash. He had tightened the collar on that leash since the Yaxley incident as well, so he wasn't very concerned about them slipping away. He wanted to capture the biggest segment of the magical population he could, and he would sacrifice a few purebloods if he had to, to convince the rest of them to stay in line.
Anesidora nodded wordlessly and stepped back into the crowd. Harry looked at Richard, tilting his head toward Anesidora ever so slightly. Richard got the message and nodded. Harry would have to remember to reward the man at some point in the near future—such a brilliant minion.
--
He spent the rest of the meeting whipping them into a frenzy, urging them to act for peace, prosperity, and for his good name. When they were dismissed, the Delugians flooded out of the ballroom doors, cheering for their future. Well, the one they imagined, anyway. Harry wasn't sure that most of their imaginings would match up with the world he was planning to build. They'd eventually get closer to his idea of course, but that could be months or years from now.
Anesidora hung back at Richard's request, and Remus was shown to a side room for the moment.
“I meant what I said, Anesidora. Don't use that word—you're better than that, or so I would like to think.” Harry had discovered during the war in his old time line that disappointment worked far better than simple anger for stringing people along, and used it without hesitation.
She nodded, “I'm sorry, my lord. I...assumed, incorrectly, that you would be following your predecessor's directive on this issue.”
He shook his head, “Part of why Voldemort was leading you to ruin was this issue. Muggleborns don't exist without reason and his theory that they steal magic from wizards is illogical at best—one would think they'd have to be magical to begin with for that to even be a possibility. The only thing that suggests his theory is the decrease in relative magical power amongst purebloods—the simplest and probably most correct answer to that is inbreeding. When you add new blood to an old family, the power level shoots up to near its full potential, assuming it doesn't meet it. Your late lord was an example of that, by the way.”
Anesidora nodded, digesting the information about Voldemort, and asked curiously, “You think magic is sentient?”
“To some extent. Hogwarts has so much ambient magic that it's a little sentient. Collectively, all the magic in England is probably twice that aware. But, admittedly, the castle is my best piece of evidence, though some of the old magical objects seem something like that. Remember the floor in the ruins?”
She nodded.
“Part of the reason that floor is so dangerous is its sentience. If you know that path, you're safe, but if not, it can come up with various ways to kill you. It's not a very clever floor, as my ride across it proves I think, but there's some intelligence there.”
Anesidora nodded again, “As you say, my Lord. I will endeavor to erase that word from my vocabulary.”
“Excellent, my girl. Kindly fetch Mr. Lupin on your way out?”
She bowed and did his bidding, bowing again before slipping from the room.
Harry sighed and looked down at Remus from his obsidian throne. “So.”
“Yes?”
“Do you honestly wish to join me? I admit I have trouble picturing you trading sides without the Headmaster's prodding.” Harry paused to watch Remus's face, “I would be glad for someone with your skill to join, but I'd prefer for you not to be spying—not that you'd be learning anything interesting for a long time, if ever.” He paused again and then went on, “This is a binding agreement, Mr. Lupin. If you accept, you can't back out.”
When Remus said nothing, he added, “I'm really not interested in chasing you and the Order, so if you choose not to join, there will be no repercussions.”
Remus hesitated. He'd been given strict orders from the Headmaster to join, though he really didn't want to. “Why aren't you interested in the Order? If I may ask an off-topic question,” he amended.
Harry sighed, suspecting that Snape had already explained it. “I'm changing the field, and I see no reason to destroy people who aren't a threat. The Order is geared for defense combat—a battle field I'm not interested in playing on.”
Remus nodded neutrally.
Harry fixed him with a gaze, “You haven't answered my question, by the way. Is this a sincere switch or is this at the behest of Dumbledore?”
He hesitated a second too long, “...Sincere.”
“Mhm,” Harry hummed skeptically, “I somehow don't believe you. Go home, Mr. Lupin and mind the silver on your way out. Richard!” Harry called, and the man appeared at the foot of the throne, “Escort Mr. Lupin off the premises and call Dolohov here, please.”
Richard bowed and lead the werewolf away. Some minutes later Dolohov appeared, bowing before the throne.
Harry sighed, “Really, no more surprise visitors. Either you need to clear all of them with me beforehand, or I need to be the only one who can adjust the wards.”
“I'm sorry, my lord,” Dolohov mumbled, staring at the floor.
Harry nodded, “I know you are, Antonin. I'm giving you the choice on the wards, though. Either clear all visitors with me, or allow me to hold the wards.”
It went unspoken that Dolohov really had no choice in the matter. “I think it would be best if you held the wards, my lord,” he said.
Harry nodded. “Very well. I really would prefer not to have to do this, Antonin, but you must understand that I don't appreciate it when you act outside your prerogative. You are not in charge of recruitment and you are in no place to see people who should be brought to a recruiter's attention. Recruiters already are aware they have to clear potentials with me—except Snape, it appears.” Harry paused. The man would have to be dealt with. “Do not seek to gain power in this manner, as I have no doubt that was what you were after. Do what you are ordered and you will receive what you seek.”
Without another word, Harry fired a hex of his own creation, one which forced Dolohov to sprout iron feathers along the back of his arms and along his spine and stripped the nutrient from his blood. He screamed in pain as the feathers sliced through sensitive flesh and cloth. Watery, pinkish blood dripped from the metal barbs and then splattered as the feathers tumbled to the marble floor with clang. Another set of plumage ripped through the newly healed skin and he howled.
Harry allowed two more sets of feathers to grown and molt before he ended the spell and cast a healing spell that put iron back in Dolohov's blood.
“Don't make me do that again,” Harry said mournfully, “I truly despise having to teach you this way.”
Antonin nodded weakly, and Harry was surprised that the man was still standing. The feathers tended to bristle when forced through muscle and skin, badly tearing tissue. But then, Harry supposed, it wasn't quite as bad as the Cruciatus Curse Dolohov had been trained to, though perhaps more twisted then the Unforgivable.
Harry shot Dolohov an icy glare. “We will deal with the wards when you have had sufficient time to recover. Do not allow anyone else through the wards in the mean time, however, or another Iron Feather Curse will be the least of your worries.”
Dolohov bowed and escaped, taking Harry's words as a dismissal. Harry called for Richard again. “Kindly fetch Snape for me, assuming he is still in the manor,” he said when his aide entered the room.
Fifteen minutes later, Richard returned with Snape trailing behind him.
Harry eyed him coolly. “I expected you to know better than to bring recruits in without notifying me. You were there, after all, when I issued that order, whereas Dolohov was not.”
“I am sorry, my lord,” Snape bowed. “He notified me rather last minute that he wished to join us.”
“Not an excuse, Severus,” he said with lifted wand.
After he finished cursing Snape, Harry hung around the manor long enough to go through a few reports before going home to ponder his next move, as well as who he could trust to advise him. He was an excellent judge of character, but knew very well that he didn't always make the best moves; that had always been Hermione's department.
Rastaban was far more intelligent than anyone ever thought he was. At the moment, he was considering his new Lord. Ibex was a bundle of contradictions and seemed a little wild sometimes, though he handled the crowd admirably. He swirled the wine glass in his hand, staring at the fire, wondering.
A/N: I'm seeing a potential need to rewrite certain scenes in chapters one and two—I didn't predict having to define power and it's rather difficult to define the nuances. His goals and personality won't change, but how he gets things done may. Someone at Patronus Charm pointed out that Harry doesn't act like a century old wizard. I'm aware of that and there's reasons for it. Part of the difficulty with this story is weaving those whys in without resorting to interludes or a side-shot series that few people will bother to read. Please bear with me.
Also, I am looking for a RELIABLE beta. I need someone who can spare an hour or two when a chapter's almost ready to look over it and not take a week to do it.