22Saviour, Champion, Lord, Master
Disclaimer/Plot/Challenge Information/Author's Note: SEE FIRST CHAPTER
Recommended Reads: Apex by JustBored21, A Champion's New Hope by Rocag, Aspirations by megamatt09, The Rise of the Last Potter by HPfanfictioner66, The Hollow Prince by FirstSilverKing, Kill me if you can by PercyPendragon3, Harry Potter: Rise of Darkness by Rezurex, Harry Potter: Lord of Darkness by AngelSlayer135, To Be A Master by red-jacobson, Dark Discoveries by aTasteOfDarkness, Worthy of Magic by Sage Ra and The Purge by Redbayly
Key Pairing: Harry/Romilda;
Other Pairings: Colin/Ginny; Others TBD
Normal Speech
'Thoughts'
/Parseltongue/
Review Answers:
Guest: Sooner or later, it'll happen and, when it does…tick…tick…tick…KABOOM!
A10riddick: Seeing as how the challenge behind this story forbids Harry forgiving his betrayers, the only way that could happen is if she does the one thing she hates more than anything else, even being proven wrong or stupid…hmm…then again, in their ideal world, darksiders do say that scum like her belong at the feet of their betters, calling them Master, don't they?
Oh, my old friend…what have you awoken in me? (Evil laugh)
"Use my name to fuel your own one-track-minded ambitions again, Granger, and I promise you: your feet won't hit the ground. Also, tell that egomaniacal boyfriend of yours that if I hear one bad word out of his mouth, the only thing he'll get is a Howler from Mummy Dearest asking why she's suddenly down a daughter!"
Every head looked to Ginny Weasley, who seemed to be frozen in shock and alarm at Harry's ultimatum.
Though only she seemed to know what it meant, and what Harry was referring to, while the Fourth Champion snapped his gaze to a pair of other redheads as he sneered.
"And that goes double-double for any other redheaded Weasleys who might think embracing their inner Marauder is a good way to get me to fess up and admit something that isn't even true: come after me…your sister's life and freedom are forfeit and, no, boys, I am not joking!"
Chapter 3: Who Do You Think You Are?
"POTTER!"
Not to anyone's surprise, certainly not the object of the borderline-primal roar that tore through the Great Hall, no sooner had said one-worded cry echoed through the hall, before every head – well, every one in Hogwarts, anyway – looked to the High Table, seeing as how there was only one person who could scream that name that loudly with that much hatred in his voice.
However, to the same onlookers' combined shock, awe and disbelief, even Professor Severus Snape looked alarmed, if not suspicious, as to the reason for the primal scream that didn't come from his lips.
Instead, it came from Professor McGonagall, who frog-marched her way into the Great Hall as the evening feast was beginning, her usually-stern face now more like tempestuous thunder, her eyes filled with so much rage, her pupils were almost non-existent with how tiny they'd become. Some people even later claimed to have heard her teeth cracking and splintering under the strain of her fury as she advanced on her own table, her hands clenched so tightly, she was even leaving drops of blood in her wake from how her nails were digging into her palms.
And yet, what made this whole scene even more alarming was how the object of her pissed-off-and-then-some-state, the quote-unquote Fourth Champion of the poorly-named Tri-Wizard Tournament, didn't even bother acknowledging her shadow looming over him, much less look up when she'd entered the room in such madness.
In fact, if Harry showed any emotion, it was discomfort as he hummed and grunted before he drawled, "Romilda-darling: be a good pet and tell whoever is blocking the light to go fuck themselves, would you?"
"ONE HUNDRED POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!" Screamed Minerva, unable to believe anyone could stay so calm when her true wrath was unleashed on those unfortunate enough to witness it.
"Romilda?" asked Harry.
This was his pet's cue to look up from where she'd been tending to her master's hair with one hand, whilst slowly, lovingly and with as much care and concern as she could manage, feeding him from her own fork with the other, while he lay in her lap, only opening his mouth to eat, or to take a sip from a glass with a crazy straw – and where said straw had come from was anyone's guess.
As she saw McGonagall glaring daggers the size of Excalibur at the couldn't-care-less demeanour of the Fourth Champion, the loyal-to-death pet-girl flinched for only a moment before, remembering who it was that had ordered her to respond, and what was at stake, she drew herself to her full height – though remained seated – as she locked eyes with the Head of Gryffindor.
"You heard my Master, you hypocritical old bitch! Go fuck yourself!"
"Master?"
The cry of disbelief was louder from McGonagall, than it was from the rest of the hall, but Romilda, looking once back to said master – and seeing he neither knew nor cared for her thoughts on such mundane affairs – cleared her throat as she looked back to McGonagall.
"Who the fuck do you think you are, anyway, Minerva?" drawled the fourth-year girl, unaware of a knowing smirk crossing Harry's face as he remained laid down in her lap. "You know, for someone who is named for a Goddess of Wisdom, you certainly have a terrible, maybe even incurably-bad habit of acting like an ignorant-as-all-hell, fucked-up old crone, don't you?"
"Miss Vane, twenty points…"
"Oh, go stick your points where the sun doesn't shine, Pussy…Cat!" spat Romilda, intentionally pausing between the last two words, as though she was emphasising her thoughts on a now white-faced Head of Gryffindor House, before she looked again to the still-unaware, seemingly-content Harry as she added, "My apologies, Master."
"Hmm?" asked Harry, before he smiled again when Romilda slid his head off of her lap; this time, he opened one eye, just so he could watch as she rose up, squaring up to McGonagall as she sneered at the elder witch.
"You must think you're so brilliantly-perfect, don't you? The fabulous and infallible Professor Minerva Margaret McGonagall, who has been a fuck-up at this school since Grindelwald's day! I mean, I once heard you actually jinxed a student because she complained about how another defended themselves; wonder whatever happened to that so-called Lioness?"
"Detention for a month!"
"Won't bother attending," drawled Romilda, jerking her head to Harry as she added, "You see, some of us have more important things to do, like making sure hypocritical fuck-ups like you can't stand in His way on the rise to being the one, true Champion of these Gladiator Games, so, sorry, Kitty with the Mange, I don't think I've got the time to spare."
"My office, now!"
"Why? Because your teacher's pet went and got a boo-boo and now she's come crying to Grand-Mummy?" asked Harry, now rising up from his seat, earning a brief gasp from Romilda.
Moments later, much to the shock of several students, particularly those in green, as well as several teachers – particularly the one with the hooked nose, greasy hair and ego bigger than all of hell and half of Texas – the over-infatuated girl prostrated herself at her Master's feet, earning another white-faced stare from McGonagall, while Harry was now the one staring down the so-called Lioness Queen.
"For your information, Professor; what happened to that stuck-up bitch was nothing to do with me, but rather, to do with those who choose to serve me…you know? Kind of like I've suddenly become the pampered prince Snivellus often crows I am?" asked Harry, jerking his head towards the Head of Slytherin House, who could only look on in alarm and disbelief as Harry continued laying into McGonagall without fear.
"And, while I do sympathise for the loud-mouthed, insufferable know-nothing, as well as her definitely-not-attractive face and arms, the fact of the matter is that, once again, poor, pathetic Hermione Granger can't deal with the reality of the situation, so she comes worshipping at the temple of Athena…sorry, I mean, Minerva, to get payback! I wonder…will you do what your namesake did to the Gorgon Queen, Medusa? I mean, let's face it; the selfish little time-travelling upstart who can, apparently, bend and break the laws of time for lessons has the equivalent of snakes in her hair already…and with those teeth and her annoyingly-bossy voice, I daresay it's a miracle I haven't turned to stone yet!"
"Potter, I am warning you…"
"Hey, warn me all you like, Pussy, there's nothing you can do," said Harry, now brushing past Minerva, with a smug-looking Romilda at his heels, before he turned to the Great Hall as he continued, "You see, dear students of Hoggy, Warty Hogwarts, emphasis on the second bit, there's a little something the man in the golden urinal up there didn't tell you about entering this Tournament…but I suspect Gred and Forge knew, hence why they tried to enter, only to end up looking like that Attenborough bloke, or like a white-haired version of the guy from Flash Gordon, or maybe more like Albert Einstein times two…but I digress."
Here, Harry locked eyes with Minerva, smiling like the cat that ate the canary, as he explained, "Whilst my unwilling entrance is recognised by the laws of Magic, and the fucked-up notions of fair play in the TRI-Wizard Tournament…"
"Get the fucking hint, you insects," drawled Romilda, even as Harry continued.
"I, Harry James Potter, Champion of the School of Me, Loyal to the Land and Nation of Myself, and Willing to Win only for the love, recognition and respect of the Almighty I, am immune to all forms of demeriting punishments, including, but not limited to, house point deduction, detentions, suspensions and, the one I seriously wish somebody had done by now, so I could flip you fuck-wits the bird and leave you to drown in pools of your own blood…expulsion!"
Even the Slytherins, especially a certain blond ferret, looked alarmed, if not horrified by what Harry was saying, while Minerva's rage slowly faded away, replaced by fear, as Harry smiled cruelly.
"And, you want to know what else? According to those same terms and conditions…and, well, I mean, it's a very long list of things that are and are not allowed in this farce of interscholastic cooperation; there are a few provisos…a couple of quid pro quos…"
"Get to the point!" snapped Minerva, earning a curt, or perhaps mocking, bow of the head from Harry as he did indeed get to the point.
"Anyone I deem associated with my Champion's status…part of my entourage, if you will, is also exempt from punishments as any business conducted by them is recognised as either aiding or, Merlin forbid, sabotaging my path to glory…and, on that bombshell: Romilda?"
"Yes Master," replied Romilda, lowering her collar, which revealed a small, emerald-green-coloured medallion, which had a solid silver lightning bolt, as well as a thorny crown and, to Minerva's horror, a snake coiling through the crown, looped through the top prong of the bolt.
"My moniker," explained Harry, before he opened his own shirt, revealing a larger, more-defined medallion around his neck. "And the symbol of what I like to call Camp Lucifer: you know, as in the fallen angel who was cast out for simply refusing to bend the knee to screw-ups and lunatics like you and your twinkly-eyed puppet master?"
"Why don't you call your school that, Master?" suggested Romilda, earning a curious look from Harry, "The House of the Morningstar…or the Morningstar Institute?"
"MI, My, My; what a good idea, my pet," chuckled Harry, tousling Romilda's hair, earning a mocking purring sound from the loyal girl, before he added, "There you go: now the fictitious fourth school has a name: the Morningstar Institute…and its representative should be arriving…"
At that precise moment, the doors to the Great Hall opened again, albeit slower than when Minerva walked in, admitting a sight that had anyone above second year retreating down the table, and with good reason.
"…right about now," finished Harry, smiling and waving at a healthier, cleaner, but still stern and unyielding-looking Remus Lupin, aka the former Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.
Aka the Werewolf who was the former Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.
"What…what…what is he doing back…back…back here?" demanded a now-alarmed Severus Snape, watching as Remus walked up to Harry, hugging him as he did so, which was a gesture that the proud, dark-minded Champion returned gladly.
"Well, what can I say, Snivellus?" asked Harry coolly, now turning to face Severus, though not before gently opening Remus' collared buttons, revealing his own Morningstar Institute monogram, as he smiled coyly. "We've got not one, but two Death Eaters on campus this year, meaning you and Dracula's slave over there; a Veela as a Champion of a Tournament meant for real wizards, and not envious leetle girlies who can't manage to make their fuck-buddies get it up without flashing their Allure at them…"
Judging by the smoke that now rose from the Ravenclaw Table, Harry guessed he'd gotten back at Fleur pretty damn good, both by insulting her breed, and then mocking the leetle boy comment she'd made the night before in the Champions' Chamber.
Such a shame Harry wasn't done with the Frogs, "And, let's not forget, we've also got a drunken oaf who can't even teach right, mooning over the BFG's ugly sister that's actually daring to call itself a Headmistress; compared to those threats of Dark Magic and threats to us real wizards, what's a werewolf or two?"
As Harry had expected, the revelation-slash-reminder of Remus' furry little problem earned more cries of alarm, as well as rage.
All of which were silenced by a familiar cannon-like blast from Dumbledore's wand, before the leader of the flock did what he did best.
"Harry, my boy…"
"Albus Dumbledore, everybody: sticking his abnormally-broken nose in just in the nick of time, bravo, Headmaster," drawled Harry, mockingly applauding, though not before Remus and Romilda took up the claps, while Harry snorted, "And nearly nine months before you usually stick your oar in; good job. That's a whole new record! Now, not to sound discourteous, Albus, my man, but…what the fuck do you want?"
"Would you…please…mind telling me where you learned all of this, and how you've gotten Remus here without my approval?"
"I'll field that question, cub," said Remus, earning a gesture from Harry, which seemed to suggest that Remus should now take the floor, which he did, smiling warmly at Albus as he explained, "As Champion, whether willingly or no, and now, as we know, the Champion of the, I gladly admit it, impressive-sounding Morningstar Institute…"
"Certainly better sounding than something that makes you think of a pig with wart-infested piles," drawled Harry, earning a snort from Romilda, while even Remus chuckled, before Harry added, "Speaking of, do you know something? That reminds me, I really must send a letter to the Zoo in Little Whinging; let them know I'm going to be a hell of a lot worse next summer than all previous summers."
"But until then," continued Remus, looking back to Albus and co as he explained, "As Champion, Lord Potter is entitled to leave the grounds as and when he chooses, without giving any just cause to any so-called authorities or guardians who claim rights over him."
"Which, seeing as how MI is limited to me, the lovely Miss Vane and the Big Bad Wolf here, I don't really have just yet…"
"Don't forget our mascot, Harry!" insisted Remus.
This, Harry realised, was the cue for a VERY familiar large, shaggy, demonic-looking black dog, who now seemed to be dressed in battle gear, judging by the spiked armaments on the joints where his legs met his body, as well as the silver-and-emerald helmet with added metal fangs he had on his forehead, not to mention the three, chain-like tails that swished through the air behind him.
"Ah, of course," laughed Harry, petting the dog as it bounded up to him, licking his face lovingly, "How-ever could I forget about my darling Grim, Cerberus? I was going to call him Snuffles at first, but he looks a hell of a lot more Sirius this way; maybe it's the black chain, or the fur…I don't know; what do you think, Albus, my man?"
As Dumbledore rose to his feet sharply, Harry chuckled, holding up a finger, before he jangled what looked and sounded like an emerald-bell-like charm on a collar that hung from Cerberus' neck.
A charm-mounted collar with the MI Crest now adorning it.
"And, before you go saying things you probably shouldn't, I'd note the charm collar, and the rule about immunity for all who come here bearing my mark…you know, like Dracula's skivvy over there and the pretty tattoo on his arm?"
"You dare…"
"Shut up, Igor!" sneered Remus, before he cracked his knuckles audibly as he added, "Remember, James isn't here to tell any of us to back down this time…and since we can't be penalised for it…hmm…when is the next full moon?"
Suffice to say, if Karkaroff alone didn't get the hint, everyone else did.
Harry, meanwhile, petted Cerberus' fur again as he turned to Minerva, "So, as I was saying: no, I won't do your bidding, because you, Hogwarts Professor, and I use the term loosely, you have no power over me! Or my pet, or my old friend and all-time favourite Professor…oh, and my little dog too! So, with regards to your impotent threat, your bullshit belief of being superior over me and, especially, your whiny, bossy, Molly Weasley Wannabe teacher's pet: let me just say it again…once more…with feeling: go fuck yourself!"
With that, Harry did flip McGonagall the bird, before he strode past her, heading for the door, his entourage at his heels.
As he reached the door, however, Harry held up another finger as he turned back.
"Oh, but there is just one more thing, as the detective once said…to answer your question, Mr Chief Warlock When It Suits Me? I got all the info, and the toys, and the fun ideas for my future, all from some very interested parties who have decided to keep an even closer eye on my progress, as well as my vaults…I believe your Charms Master might have heard of them: the Dragons' Bane?"
Judging by the familiar loud eep that escaped Professor Flitwick, he did know of them.
Harry, however, wasn't done, "And, as proof of that, you might want to get to your office; I think someone's left a package for you, in thanks for all your hard work and esteemed honour, not-my-magical-guardian!"
Then, he was gone…
SCLM
Blood.
Fear.
Blood.
Alarm.
Blood.
Disbelief.
Blood.
Refusal to accept the truth.
And…did we mention blood?
Well, anyway, this was what Albus Dumbledore saw, thought about and felt as he looked at the package on his desk.
A decapitated head…one that used to belong to a goblin he'd ensured kept him in clover, for as long as Harry's presence and role in things was a necessary evil for the Greater Good.
But now, Financier Griphook was no more.
All that was left was his still-bleeding head, with its eyes gouged out and two pieces of a broken Galleon where his eyeballs should have been.
Underneath it all, Dumbledore saw a red parchment with a black symbol that he recognised as the crest of Gringotts.
Vanishing the red – aka the bloodstains – Dumbledore found a message written to him;
NEXT TIME YOU STEAL FROM US, IT WILL BE YOUR HEAD WE SEND
BE THANKFUL FOR LORD POTTER'S MERCY
DO NOT COME TO THE BANK AGAIN, OR YOUR HEAD WILL DECORATE MY WALL!
THIS IS YOUR FIRST AND LAST WARNING, ALBUS OATHBREAKER
Blood, Honour and Gold Be Yours (while it can)
Chief Ragnok Dragonsbane
For the first time in a long time, Albus had absolutely no idea what he was going to do.
Even moreso with Harry, as well as the monster and his ex-Azkaban rebel now joining the Fourth Champion's camp.
'Damn it, Barty,' thought Dumbledore as he sank onto his chair, sucking on three of his lemon drops all at once.
'Why couldn't you have made sure the little martyr was fully-vulnerable before you put his name in that Goblet?'
Chapter 3 and it's safe to say Round 1 now goes to Harry Potter, Champion of the Morningstar Institute, but how will Hogwarts' very own Fallen Angel deal with the other losers in the bunch?
Also, it looks like Albus isn't quite as ignorant to reality as canon-GoF makes him out to be, but will Harry be able to beat the trickster and master manipulator at his own game, or will events play out as we know they will?
Keep Reading to Find Out
Next Chapter: Indirect vengeance didn't work: time for a face-to-face…yeah, you're really the brightest witch of your age, aren't you, Granger? Also, speaking of nuisances, Harry comes face-to-face with a real insect, while Romilda receives a very interesting request concerning her Master's new entourage, and the power it, and he, now wields;
Please Read and Review